From the Horse's Mouth
by Nevermore
Summary: How do mercenaries unwind after fighting off a Sabbat siege? Find out as a small group hits Panama City, Florida, just in time for Spring Break. (Complete.)
1. Foreword/Prologue

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

K.T. Corben, Erica Blackwell, and Michelle Marlowe are the products of Icy Mike Molson's overactive imagination. For more insight into his disturbed mind, check out his stories here on fanfiction.net.

Siras Telemon is the dream-child of (a most likely drunken) Steve Wakefield.

All of the other characters, as well as the story, are mine.

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Note to Readers: While this is a stand-alone story, it might help those that are truly interested in getting to know certain characters better to first read my five San Francisco stories or their sequel, _Le Bon Temps Roule_. You could also check out stories by Icy Mike Molson which feature K.T. Corben and/or Johnny Yashida (such as his wonderful stories _Enemies Disguised as Enemies_ and _Sleight of Hands_). As I said, this is stand-alone, so reading all that other stuff isn't necessary. It might be interesting to you, though, if you also like what you find here.

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From the Horse's Mouth

by

Nevermore

(with some help from Johnny Yashida)

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Foreword

My name is Johnny Yashida; maybe you've heard of me. There are a lot of stories out there about me, but I just want to remind you not to believe everything you ever hear or read. Only pay attention to the fun stories, or the ones that make me look noble or heroic. All the others are just slanderous tales told to make me look like a villain, or at the very least, a monster. I'm not a monster. Really. Just because I'm a vampire doesn't mean I'm a heartless fiend. As an old friend once said, a severe sun allergy does not an evil person make. See the wisdom in that?

Anyway, like I was saying, I've been around the block a few times. It seems, however, that every time anything even remotely exciting happens to me, my friends end up hearing about it from other people before I get the chance to tell them all myself. They don't even get all the facts straight, either. Do you know what it's like when friends finish your stories for you when it's the first time you're telling them? Probably not. Let me tell you, though, it sucks. I mean, it blows monkeys. So this time I'm telling the story myself so it doesn't get all fucked up in the translation. I'm tired of jackass writers (all y'all know who you are) messing with my character. So now, without further ado, a true story of Johnny Yashida, as told by Johnny Yashida.

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Prologue

Every story should have a prologue, I think. The reasons are obvious – there's always something that happens to cause the shit to hit the fan. Professional writers call this the inciting incident. I, however, call it the thing that causes the shit to hit the fan. Not enough people ever seem to notice the major events that directly lead up to the inciting incident (note that I'm using the correct terminology, but only as a concession to Michelle, who wants me to sound professional here). If people noticed, then the rest of the story probably wouldn't take place because whatever caused the shit to hit the fan would have been avoided. Anyway, in this particular story, as per usual, I did not notice all the signs around me, and thus I experienced an inciting incident. It went something like this...

I had just spent some of the roughest weeks of my life partaking in the opposition of a Sabbat siege in New Orleans. Now, Michelle has just informed me that I should do a good job of keeping the reader informed, so I'll explain briefly just what the Sabbat is (that seemed to make her happy). The world of the vampires, or kindred, as those, including myself, in the Camarilla would say, is made up of three main groups. The first is the Camarilla, which is the largest and clings to a strict set of rules, the greatest of these being the Masquerade. That law simply states that we must keep our presence hidden from the mortals, so that they never undertake another Inquisition. There are a lot of other rules, many of them important, but that's the biggest. Anyway, there's also the Sabbat, which is a group comprised mainly of younger vampires (and they use the term vampires, not kindred, because they feel no need for euphemisms to explain what they are). The Sabbat opposes the Camarilla in just about every way, and they seem to take a great delight in torturing and destroying Camarilla kindred. Then, finally, is the third group, which I'll just refer to as independents, though it's actually more complicated than that. The independents include anarchs, which are gangs of young vampires that try to just hang out and have a good time with immortality, thus causing no end of headaches for those that would like to have kindred keep a low profile. To finish off my explanation, vampires generally exist in clans, meaning there are traceable bloodlines for each of us, and we keep track of common ancestry. Vampires with common ancestry generally have a similar knack for learning the powers that all you people out there have heard vampires possess (like mind control, and turning into bats and shit like that). Anyway, I'm from a clan called the Telemon, and we spend a lot of time hiring ourselves out as mercenaries against the Sabbat. The job sorta sucks, but it pays really well. Anyway, I guess you could say that opposing the Sabbat is where this story really starts.

So, like I was saying before, we had just finished with the siege in New Orleans, and were busy celebrating another win for truth, justice, and the Camarilla way. Actually, I don't think I should ever again put truth, justice, and Camilla in the same sentence. Anyway, I have typically been a loner. My sire is the head of my clan, and he uses me as sort of a scout and diplomat, the man who finds jobs for the rest of the clan to do. So I would be sent hither and yon across North America, looking for Camarilla princes that had a Sabbat problem. The only person with me was Michelle, who is my much-adored Gangrel companion (do you really think I'd say she was anything but much-adored when she's watching over my shoulder right now?). Ow. Ok, so there I was, in New Orleans, with not only Michelle, but three childer that needed training, and one Ventrue _antitribu_ who was a refugee from the Sabbat. The last one, Erica, is the partner of a mercenary friend of mine. He needed some down time to figure out why he went postal in New Orleans, so Erica ended up hanging out with me. So, needless to say, my job became far more difficult to do with five kindred tagging along where there used to be one. I mean, it's almost like I've gotten my own groupies.

Anyway, I realized that at the very least, the childer would need some time to train. My clan is involved in combat operations all over the country, but I didn't want these young ones to receive training in combat. It's far too easy to get killed that way. Besides, I plan to keep two of the three childer for myself, to help me with the work I do. It only seems fitting that I train them my own way. So, seeing as I had just made a lot of money for my clan, I decided to spend some of it in establishing a small haven where my clan could train young recruits. I figured I could break the place in myself, and then the other Telemon could do something with it as time went on. It would give us a small place where we could get away from the strife of our existences, so we could train and focus on being all we could be. Sounds like a really good idea, right? I sure thought so. You should have heard Siras, my sire, though. It went something like this:

"You want a training camp?" he asked dubiously. I was suddenly thankful I was only speaking to him on the phone, because I knew exactly how he'd be looking at me if I were there in person. His eyes get sorta spooky, like he's searching for any sign that I have my own agenda. Usually I do, and sometimes he sees that. I'm not a big fan of that.

"This is a move that makes sense," I said evenly, keeping my voice as formal as I could, figuring that he'd like that.

"Why?" he asked. Luckily, I had had the foresight to prepare for this most obvious of questions.

"Well, I have two childer to train now," I answered, making certain I omitted Mason from the count. I didn't want the others in my clan to snatch him up. "The clan is growing quickly, Siras, and I don't think I'm going to be able to keep up with my diplomatic duties forever. Eventually, we're going to need more people in my role. I thought both Uiko and Melissa would be perfect."

"Melissa is not really your childe," he pointed out. "She's Sam Carson's childe, and he expects her back. She's supposed to work in Intelligence. As for Uiko, I thought she was going to be an assassin."

"Melissa is my childe as far as the law goes," I shot back. "I get to decide what's right for her, not Sam Carson."

"Those are not your orders," Siras replied. See, he always gets like that when he realizes he's going to lose an argument. Instead of reasoning with me, he sums everything up as 'my duty.' Too bad for him I was never a soldier, so I don't buy into that whole line as easily as some of my brethren. I figured I already had my sire beat.

"My orders are to train her," I said patiently. "I could simply teach her the basics and send her back to her sire, or I could give an honest evaluation of her strengths and weaknesses, and then train her accordingly. Wouldn't it be best for us to take advantage of our recruits' talents? I thought it would be more efficient. I thought you would be pleased." Ok, so maybe it wasn't fair to phrase it like that, but there it was.

"I appreciate you taking your time to evaluate the childe," Siras relented, "but Carson is expecting her back."

"I know, I thought about that," I admitted. "But Carson is in Boston, surrounded by a thick government investigation. He could always embrace someone else to fill whatever role he had planned for Melissa. This woman, though, is really fit for diplomatic duty. We could even assign her permanently to the Boston siege. Carson's not fool enough not to realize how good it would look for him to have his childe meeting with the prince and primogen of that city, speaking the current party line of the Telemon. In the end, he'd be thanking both of us, and the Telemon would gain someone with my experience in a position where it's needed."

"You have a point," he admitted. "And what of Uiko? You had said she was to be an assassin. Now you want her to be a diplomat?"

"What's the difference?" I asked simply. There was silence at the other end of the line for a few moments as Siras seemed to realize what I was saying. I learned early that the art of diplomacy is most effective when backed up with the thinly veiled threat of violence, and so I had developed a plethora of abilities that made me an effective assassin. I was more than capable of teaching Uiko all she would need, and now my sire knew it. It would be quite awhile, I figured, before my clan would start accepting contracts for covert assassinations. It was good business not to go about doing that kind of work. Besides, if someone wanted to kill someone else enough, the Assamites would be more than willing to do the job for them, and I didn't want to ever make the Assamites think I was cutting in on their action. I figured that by the time we ever accepted assassination contracts Uiko would be fully trained and more than willing to undertake the role she had filled in her mortal days. That would keep me in the clear, and until then would allow me to keep my childe close.

""So you're sure you can make her an effective assassin?" Siras asked.

"Of course," I answered. "She did that work for the Yakuza before the embrace, and now I'm only teaching her the skills she'll need to continue her vocation against the kindred. I'll need a good ten years, but she'll do just fine."

"Alright," Siras relented. "You can have you training compound. Where are you planning on setting up shop?"

"Somewhere in the South," I responded. "Outdoor training is tough in the winter if it's below freezing. I'll see if I can find a nice place."

"Keep the price reasonable," Siras warned.

"So do I have a limit?"

"Two fifty," he replied. "And that's not just the building, but also the price of any security equipment, weapons, and modifications. You go beyond two fifty, and you'll be paying for it yourself."

"Understood," I replied, hiding my surprise that Siras had agreed to pay two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for my new place. I knew he probably planned to also use it for other new recruits once I had it broken in, but that was fine. I'd still have it to myself long enough to unwind after that damned siege. Everyone always thinks that Siras is a hard ass, paranoid fuck, but I think deep down he actually has a soft spot for me. I mean really deep, deep down. When I say deep, mind you, I mean like Marianas Trench deep. It's one of the only explanations I can come up with for still being alive. Sure, I serve a purpose now, but in my youth all I did was steal cars and spy on the latest person he was convinced his grandsire had sent to assassinate us.

So anyway, that's pretty much the prologue. Within a week I had ended up getting a cozy five-bedroom manse on an eight-acre estate just outside Panama City, Florida. Final cost, four hundred thousand dollars. The best part is that Siras actually paid the extra money himself. All I had to do was get permission from the Panama City prince to allow my clan to set up a permanent residence in his domain. That was easy enough, what with Sabbat-incited violence pretty much all around his territory.

Maybe it doesn't seem to you like much of an inciting incident to get a nice place in Panama City, but did I mention that we got there just as Spring Break was starting to kick into high gear? And you thought this was gonna be a quiet story, didn't you?

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To be continued.............................


	2. The Story's Plot is Revealed

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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I – The Story's Plot is Revealed

I awakened slowly at dusk and looked once again to my right and left. Lying next to me, as always, was Michelle on my left, and Uiko on my right. Now I know what you're thinking – damn you're smooth Yashida. In that assumption, though, I'd have to say that you're right. I mean, have I mentioned yet that both women were naked? It's true, they were, just like they are every night. It's really, really cool, and I hate that I'm dead. When I was alive, I used to dream about stuff like that. Now I'm dead, though, so sex has no place in my life. Well, almost no place. I do have admit that even though I've been dead for over twenty five years, I still feel kinda funny when I see Uiko, clothed or not. There's just something about her that screams out 'sex appeal.' Her body is just absolutely amazing. I remember when I first embraced her, and she asked to sleep with me. I figured, 'Hey, why not? She's probably feeling really unsure about herself and her surroundings, and needs a bit of comforting. I'm all about comforting my childer.' Then she stripped down and climbed under the blanket with me, and I was wishing I were still alive. She said she was just used to sleeping naked, and she offered to put clothes on if it made me more comfortable. I assured her it was fine, though. Wasn't that really nice of me?

It sorta became habit for us to sleep together like that, and eventually I hooked up again with Michelle, who had been away for a month, doing whatever it is Gangrel do when they go off alone. Anyway, as you might expect, Michelle did not particularly care for my new sleeping arrangements. I assured her, as should have been obvious, that there was nothing sexual about it. Both Uiko and I were thoroughly dead, and there should be nothing to be concerned about. Michelle didn't seem to agree, but eventually (after a not too unexpected tiff in New Orleans) she backed down. She climbed into bed with me that night, as was her old custom, and then she stripped down too, which was not something I had really been expecting. Not that I minded. She's not as hot as Uiko, that's for sure, but she's great all the same. Uiko didn't seem to mind the company, and within a couple of days it just grew into habit.

Now I'm not saying we're a threesome or anything, like you mortal pervs reading this probably are thinking. It all has to do with the blood bond, a feeling of intense loyalty and affection created when one vampire drinks the blood of another (at least three times). Uiko has drank from me, so she is bound to me. Michelle and I have shared, so we're bound to each other. Michelle knows I'm hers and not Uiko's (and never could be, since it's only possible to be bound to one kindred at a time). Uiko, for her part, seems to feel her affection for me is enough, and she has no problem with Michelle's presence. There are three of us, and there are feelings of affection, but we're not a threesome. Just get that straight.

Now where was I? Oh yeah, I was waking up in the arms of two attractive nude women (I just wanted to mention that fact again, because it's really just that cool). The whole problem that had driven me to Panama City was the need for a vacation. Lately, I'd been feeling that I'd lost perspective. I used to be a lot more fun, as Michelle has been reminding more and more lately. Then, over the years, I started to grow up or something. Like I said earlier, my job in the clan has been to go around the country acting as a diplomat. That required a bit of maturity, as diplomats rarely do fun things like steal police cars and spend inordinate amounts of time at racetracks. Ah, racetracks, now that was a good time. See, now this is a perfect way to explain just how irresponsible I could be in my youth. As a mortal, I loved watching horse racing. Needless to say, it's not exactly a nighttime sport, so I haven't been able to see much of it live (unless you count that crappy harness racing, which is not unusual to see at night). Anyway, one of the earliest things I learned about as a vampire was ghouls. So I made myself one. It was this guy named Joey, an old friend of mine in L.A. who was a fellow thief. He continued to take care of daytime business for me, so I could still place bets on my horse races. Well, then I got it in my head one night that I could do a lot to help my cause if I sneaked some of my own blood into one long-shot or another. In effect, I made a ghoul out of the horse. Once it drank my blood, it became stronger and a bit faster. (The devil in this plan is getting a horse to drink blood. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. It's very top secret.) Of course, from there I had a thrill perfecting the process until I was able to pick win, place, and show for virtually any race. Also, I hit the perfecta one day. Some burly guys at the racetrack started to get really suspicious of Joey after that, and they beat him up pretty bad. Anyway, I haven't done much betting on horse racing since then. I still have all my notes on how to do the whole process, though, and it's just waiting until I need a new infusion of cash.

You know, if I keep digressing like that, this story will never get finished. Therefore, I will endeavor to stay on track. (Mmmm... the track.) So, as I said, we were all in Panama City (or actually, just outside it), and Spring Break was descending upon the locals. Now, as you probably know, Spring Break is an annual right where college students from all over the country (usually in the colder parts of the country) travel south with their pasty-white skin to drink enough to pickle their brains, have sex enough to satisfy their cravings until the return trip home, and get sun-burned enough to guarantee skin cancer by the age of forty. It's a wonderful time that I indulged in myself when I was a mortal. I wasn't in college or anything, but that never stopped me. When I was seventeen I went to my first Spring Break down in Fort Lauderdale (it wasn't quite as huge a tradition outside of Florida in those days, so there weren't huge vacation packages to Cancun and South Padre Island yet). When I was eighteen I went to Daytona, and at nineteen I went to San Diego. A few weeks after that, I was embraced. At least I had a bit of a tan when it happened (and my color has not paled in the least thus far).

The one things the mortals don't know about Spring Break is that it's also a huge thing for anarchs. Lots of anarchs come south for the swinging nightlife and the high concentration of drunken college students that make for a wonderful late-night buffet. The prince of Panama City, Cheri Beckinsdale (I know, she's a woman, but she's still called a prince... don't expect me to be able to explain that to you), is not a big fan of the annual anarch immigration. Not only does it put a strain on the local food supply and risk endangering the Masquerade, but the anarchs also provide a perfect way for Sabbat infiltrators to disguise their true identities and sneak in for reconnaissance. The job of preventing this stuff falls to Ricky "Boom-Boom" Hidalgo. Ricky was a boxer back in the sixties until he took a spill on his motorcycle. Jackass wasn't wearing a helmet, and when he went sprawling along the asphalt at forty miles an hour, his right eye got introduced to a rock. So, in addition to the severe road burn and a few fractured bones, Ricky ended up blind in one eye. That ended his boxing career right on the spot. Now, he'll bitch and moan about how he 'coulda been a contender,' like Marlon Brando in "On the Waterfront," but the truth is he was nothing better than mediocre. Anyway, after he recovered from his injuries (except for the whole eye thing, of course), a local Brujah embraced him. Ricky became a pretty bad ass kindred in a short time, and nowadays he works as the Sheriff for the lovely Miss Beckinsdale. He does a great job of mixing with the anarchs, too. They love him, even though they know he's the sheriff (I'm still curious as to how he pulls that off). It probably has to do with the fact that Beckinsdale is extremely tolerant. She doesn't have Boom-Boom out there beating the crap out of anarchs for not introducing themselves or anything. She knows they're anarchs, and gives them certain leeway (she's rather pragmatic, don't ya think?). If they tell Boom-Boom they're in town, that's good enough. Usually, it doesn't even require any special trip or anything, since the sheriff is always around the anarchs anyway. The only thing that's expected of them is that they tell the sheriff when they think someone is Sabbat. So, in the end, the anarchs are tolerated as long as they rat out any Sabbat encroachers. That's no problem for them, either, because East Coast anarchs especially are pretty much the polar opposite of big-time fans of the Sabbat.

So, I hope that's enough exposition. So there we were, enjoying the warm nights of Panama City, surrounded by thousands of drunk and horny college students just dying to take part in wet t-shirt contests and keg-stands. Have I mentioned yet how much I just **love** Spring Break? Anyway, I'm at this quaint, wonderful club called Spinnaker's, having a drink and romancing this lovely little blonde thing when Boom-Boom comes over and starts glaring at my cute Happy Meal on legs. Needless to say, she hightailed it out of there in a hurry, and I was less than pleased. So then, after pissing me off, the sheriff has the nerve to ask for a favor. He's all like, "Hey, Yashida, can you do me a favor?"

So I look at him with disbelief, and simply respond, "You chased away my meal, jackass. Now you want me to do something for you?"

"Word has it your clan has been bad-mouthed a little bit in anarch circles recently," he shot back. "I'm giving you a chance to do some spin doctoring."

"Gee, thanks," I replied. Funny how a guy with a mohawk and an eyepatch can actually be clever enough to make it sound like he's doing me a favor when he asks me to do something for him (probably for free, too). "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"There's apparently a small pack of Sabbat that just came into town," Boom-Boom answered. "There's a local Nosferatu that has a line on most of them. Word has it they have a master plan going on."

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" I asked, not taking Boom-Boom's claims all too seriously. I just couldn't get past how much he looked like some reject from an old Errol Flynn movie.

"Seems they want to make a bunch of ghouls here during Spring Break, and then send them back home across the country," the Brujah answered. "They hope to set up a network of spies all over the place."

My heart did some kind of weird-ass double take when I heard that. See, on the surface, that's a pretty good plan. The biggest problem with it, though, is that there were over five hundred students from Penn State in town. Penn State, located in fairly isolated and unassuming State College, Pennsylvania, just happens to be in the same town where my clan is centered. The university has an incredible ROTC program, and my clan does no small amount of recruiting from the students' ranks. Also, as it's a college town, there is an incredible opportunity for feeding. Oh, and did I mention it's rather isolated? Guess I did. That means very little opportunity for interlopers to go unnoticed. So it's a haven of stability right in the middle of Pennsylvania, between the Sabbat-held cities of Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. Of course, there's a bit of a problem with werewolves in the expansive surrounding boonies, but they seem rather tolerant of us for now (translation: they haven't started devoting extraordinary amounts of time to killing us yet). So, as you would expect, this immediately leapt out at me not as a plan for a national network of spies, but as an opportunity for the Sabbat to place some ghoul spies in our home town without ever having to have one of their vampires come within a hundred miles of us.

"How much do you know so far?" I asked calmly, not betraying any of my concern. It's a skill to be that smooth, let me tell you. Sometimes I even amaze myself.

"Not much," Boom-Boom admitted. "I've pretty much figured out that there are between five and eight of them, and they seem to travel in groups of between one and three."

"They might be out there alone?" I asked quickly. It's unusual to find a single Sabbat vampire in a Camarilla-held city.

"They want to keep a low profile," the sheriff answered.

"I see," I replied. It made sense. I stood there for a moment, looking very thoughtful. See, this is the really hard part of dealing with vampires. Kindred live for a long, long time. It's unlikely that any of the kindred in Panama City would be older than two hundred years, so it's not like they're **really** old, but they're old enough to have amassed quite a bit of money. Also, keep in mind that sex has no place in kindred society. Between the two, we've pretty much eliminated what may be the two greatest motivators within mortal existence. Now, add to these the fact that immortality grants not only time to amass wealth, but also time to allow schemes to develop slowly over decades (and sometimes even centuries), and you find yourself, upon the embrace, thrust into a very different world. The rules for kindred compared to those of the mortals are like night and day. Now, I was pretty certain the sheriff wanted some help with these damned Sabbat. There was a sorta silent understanding between the prince and myself that my clan would help in putting down any Sabbat interlopers, and this definitely qualified. But if you think that any silent agreement, combined with the prince's agreement to let us buy a house, was enough to let me start giving away my vacation time, you're obviously off your rocker.

In the kindred world, favors have a great importance. Like I said before, money, time, and sex are meaningless. All that you can really count on is the influence that you hold over others. This fact made it very important for me to deal carefully with the sheriff. If he (and, by extension, the prince) discovered that we felt indebted to him, then the favor of letting us set up our training grounds could be used as leverage again (and again, and again) in the future. Needless to say, I'm not too enthusiastic about that. Even more importantly, though, is the threat this Sabbat scheme posed to my clan's home territory in Pennsylvania. I knew I had to get in on the action, just to make sure things were done right. To seem too eager, though, would let on that this Sabbat plot concerned me. If I did that, then the sheriff would know he brought me valuable information. That could lead to him being able to call in a favor in the future. See how this all works? I had to work my way into this without ending up owing anyone. If I could get my way and earn any favors for myself in the process, then that was just bonus.

"So I assume you came to me for help," I said evenly, trying my best not to tip my hand at anything I was thinking.

"It was my assumption that you would want to take part in opposing this Sabbat scheme," Boom-Boom replied, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. I could tell he was surprised I didn't just jump right on board for a killing spree. It made me wonder just what kind of people the locals think my clan is made up of.

"And why is that?" I asked, needing to know exactly where this guy was coming from.

"Word is starting to spread of the Telemon enmity toward the Sabbat," Boom-Boom said. "My prince did some checking around, and found that the Telemon have been an effective weapon against those animals."

"I'm flattered," I replied, making certain I hid my disgust at my clan's being referred to as a weapon against the Sabbat. I'd like to think we're much more than a group of grunts. "What you seem to be overlooking, though, is the fact that my clan is very well paid for its involvement against the Sabbat."

"The prince has allowed you to move into her city," the sheriff pointed out.

"And we're grateful," I answered. "The truth of the matter is, though, that while she may technically refuse entry to any kindred, tradition pretty much allows anyone to enter who will follow the rules. If nothing else, my clan has consistently shown its respect for kindred law. Besides, once word gets out that the Telemon have a permanent presence in the city, the Sabbat will likely start to avoid the area. Panama City isn't big enough to really bother with a siege at this point. Tactically, it would be unsound to make a move against this place, and the Telemon will add that much more of a deterrent. So, as a result, the prince will, in fact, derive a benefit from our presence."

"And you don't care that the Sabbat are about to set up a national chain of spies?"

This was the really touchy part. If I acted like I didn't care at all, then I would be depicted as a heartless mercenary, and no one wants that kind of presence in his city. Also, no true adherent of the Camarilla, as my clan ostensibly claims to be, would be comfortable with any kind of Sabbat plot. So, it appeared I would be dragged into this little mess (which was my plan, anyway). However, I had to make certain that I didn't seem too eager, or else the sheriff might figure out how much I wanted to put an end to this Sabbat move.

"My clan shares the Camarilla dislike for the Sabbat," I said smoothly. "As we have moved into this city, we consider it as much our responsibility to oppose Sabbat action as it is any other clan's responsibility. I will not withhold any help from you, provided our prince is not simply trying to use my clanmates and me as shock troops."  
"Not at all," the sheriff shot back, too quickly for his own good. I knew right then and there that Boom-Boom must be a terribly bad man, because he was certainly not sheriff for his political savvy.

"Well, if that's the case, I'll be happy to help you," I said. "I may be able to bring in one or two of my associates, but three of my people here are unpresented childer. They are not ready for combat, especially against the Sabbat." Of course, that was a lie, as both Uiko and Mason had just spent the past few weeks in New Orleans opposing a Sabbat siege, but that's unimportant. I had no interest in letting the sheriff know just how strong my people actually were.

"That's cool," Boom-Boom replied. "So how you want to handle this?"

"Do you have any other people?" I asked.

"A few," he answered, "but I'd rather not let them in on this. I have some fellow Brujah that I've deputized, but only for emergency situations. Beckinsdale has pretty much given me orders to keep this on the q.t. Can't really do that if I let lots of Brujah know what's going on. With all the anarchs visiting the area, word will be all over the East Coast that she can't run her city properly if all hell breaks loose."

"Not to mention the fact that no one will want to come here for Spring Break ever again if we turn the city into a shooting gallery," I pointed out.

"You understand completely."

"Well, then I guess it's lucky for us they're travelling in small groups," I commented. To me, this looked like a simple seek and destroy operation. All we would have to do was keep it quiet. I knew I was up to the task, and Michelle was competent, too. I would probably keep Erica out of it, though. True, she was trained by K.T., and he is a great mercenary, but I don't know that the word 'subtle' has ever been used on the same page as the name 'K.T.'

__

To be continued.............................


	3. Truth or Dare

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

****

II – Victim 1: Truth or Dare

"So, do you have any idea where I can find any of these assholes?" I asked Boom-Boom, deciding to get down to business right away.

"Last I heard there's one in Club La Vela," Boom-Boom answered. Club La Vela is a huge complex that's right by Spinnakers, so it wasn't like I was gonna have to go very far.

"And how exactly do you know that?"

"Beckinsdale has the Nosferatu keeping tabs on them," the sheriff answered. "We have three of them made right now. We're hoping that they get together at some point."

"That would make this a whole helluva lot easier," I admitted. Seemed like a decent idea, tracking the Sabbat with the Nosferatu. Now, I know what you're probably thinking – if the Nosferatu are tracking the Sabbat, why don't we just use them to kill the intruders? That's a valid enough question, and one that I was tempted to ask, myself. I held back for two reasons. First, as I said, I wanted my clan to get in on the action. Therefore, I wouldn't do anything that might relieve us of any of the responsibility. Second, I knew what his answer would have been. He'd give me that line of shit about how, since the Sabbat are out amongst mortals, it would be too risky to use the Nosferatu in combat. Don't get me wrong, that's a truly valid reason. I only call it a line of shit because I kinda get sick of hearing it all over the place. It seems a little convenient if you ask me. "So should I just go over there or what? Is there anyone who can tell me who I'm looking for?"

"Have you met Jeremy?" Boom-Boom asked.

"The prince's childe?" I asked.

"That's the one," the sheriff said with a nod, glaring slightly at some passing girl that seemed to be paying too much attention to his eyepatch. "He's pretty much the intermediary between me and the Nosferatu. He'll be working with you, now, too. How about you go over there and keep an eye on this Sabbat guy, making sure he doesn't get too close to any mortals."

"And you'll wait for us outside, and we can jump him later," I concluded. He nodded proudly, as if he was impressed that I had been able to figure out his clever scheme. This was the first time during my vacation when I began to wonder how Beckinsdale held the city with such apparently incompetent minions.

"I'd go in, too, but there's too great a chance he could recognize me."

"They likely have a physical description of you, and probably a picture, too," I agreed, "but you blend in pretty easily in a crowd." Unfortunately, it didn't appear that the sheriff had a sense of humor, and the glare he directed at me actually made my blood feel like it was starting to freeze. Word to the wise – if you're in Panama City, don't make jests about the sheriff's appearance. After a brief moment he cracked a thin, forced smile, but I could tell he was doing that just because he knew he was gonna have to work with me, and didn't want to start any bad feelings right away. I made a mental note to do something really cool at some point in the future, hoping that would make up a little for my offense. "I'll tell ya what," I said, hoping this gesture would make up for my faux pas a small bit. "My people and I will take care of this guy. How about you see if you can help the Nosferatu track down any of the others. That would help us more than anything else right now."

"Sure," he grumbled. Despite his voice, though, I could see he was cool with my offer. I figured he would go try to get a victim of his own, so that he could keep pace with my people's head count. That was fine with me. After all, I was supposed to be on vacation. If he wanted to race me to the end of the local Sabbat population, I wasn't gonna argue.

So, needless to say, I wanted to hightail it out of Spinnaker's and get my night's job done. First I had to find my crew, though. So, in the interest of time, I'll just say that I rounded them all up without incident. I gave them the quick version of what was going on, and asked Michelle and Uiko to join me for some reconnaissance. Erica seemed rather intent on joining us, too, but I resisted. I pointed out that she was on vacation, but she said she needed to keep her skills honed (the kind of answer I'm sure she learned from K.T.). Next I told her she wouldn't get paid for the job, but she said she was willing to do a freebie if it meant killing Sabbat. Now, that response seemed a little strange to me. The first time I had met Erica, I was sure that her name sounded familiar. I did some checking up on stuff, and discovered that she is in fact a former Sabbat pack member that is currently being hunted for an assassination attempt against the Cardinal. Seems K.T. was a part of the whole thing, which makes me wonder what really happened in New York. K.T. Corben might be willing to try just about any job for the right price, but not even he would accept a contract for the assassination of the Sabbat Cardinal Polonia. After all, what good is the money if you're not around to use it? The whole affair smells of a cover-up, but I've decided that I don't really want to know what happened. Sometimes, it's just better that way. Anyway, as for Erica, I tried one last idea – I asked her to keep an eye on my childer for me. I planned on taking Uiko with me, but I knew that Mason had some more work to do on the haven's security system, and that Mel was nowhere near being ready for this type of thing. Once more, she refused (though she did so very politely this time, and actually came close to making it seem she was sorry she could not help me out). So there I was, stuck with Erica coming along for the ride.

So we walked across to Club La Vela, which, by the way, is one of Beckinsdale's local businesses. Surprisingly, though, she doesn't have any vampire guards there. She only uses ghouls. I guess it's just as well, though. So I went into the club with Michelle, Uiko, and Erica. It didn't take long for some guy I didn't know to come walking up to the four of us.

"Jeremy told me I'm to show you through the club," he said quickly, already starting to walk away. I guessed I was supposed to follow him.

"Umm, do you mind if we get some drinks first?" I asked. He looked at me very oddly, and I knew he was starting to wonder if he had gone up to the right group of people. Vampires aren't generally able to eat or drink anything except blood. The body's metabolism is drastically altered upon the embrace, and you end up regurgitating non-blood stuff. For some reason, though, the kindred in my clan are able to eat and drink food. In fact, we have to. If we don't eat and drink one square meal every night, our bodies start burning extra blood. We don't really gain any sustenance from the food (and it's not like we're ever really hungry or anything if we don't eat), we just have to eat it. Siras thinks our bodies just didn't make the full transformation properly. I think he probably fucked up somehow when he made me and the rest, and now he's just trying to avoid any blame. Anyway, sometimes, like now, being able to drink is a very good thing.

The ghoul yelled to one of the bartenders to serve me, obviously so he wouldn't have to wait any longer than he had to. As my usual martini would be a little out of place amongst the college Spring Break crowd, I got an Alabama Slammer instead. I also got a Jack and Coke for Uiko. Unfortunately, Michelle and Erica could not drink anything, so they were left out. Anyway, we followed this guy into the club. Club La Vela is a fantastic place. It's not just one club, but several. Inside this one club (occupancy limit somewhere around nine thousand), there's a normal club dance floor, an Irish pub, a small rave-like area, and lots of other stuff that's just too irrelevant to go into.

So anyway, we get onto this balcony sorta thing overlooking the dance floor. There must have been a thousand people dancing down there, all pressed up against each other. The ghoul pointed out a man on the dance floor who was grinding up against two women. Both of the girls were dressed in skimpy clothes, and looked like overgrown Barbie dolls. In fact, the only major difference in their appearances was that one had curly blonde hair, and the other had straight blonde hair. Apparently, this guy was our target, and he seemed to have stolen my threesome idea. That was reason enough for taking him out as far as I was concerned. Anyway, this guy was a real piece of work. From above, it was hard to tell how tall he was, but I was guessing somewhere around 5'10". He had black, slicked-back hair, and was dressed like a total Guido. I had a group-huddle with the girls, and set a plan into motion.

Obviously, the vampire had already made contact with mortals. I had little doubt that he was using some sort of mind-affecting vampiric powers against the girls, drawing them closer to him and thus guaranteeing that he would be able to get them alone later on in the night. I waited above with Michelle and Erica while Uiko went downstairs and started to dance up to the threesome below us. Guys everywhere were trying to get Uiko's attention, but to her credit she seemed completely single-minded in her focus on our target. In fact, her focus was almost disturbing. From my vantage point it seemed like she was approaching like a panther. The look in her eyes was really unsettling. The Sabbat vamp caught sight of her when she was about ten feet away, and I noticed her expression alter ever so slightly. Now she seemed hungry. As in sexually starved, that is. It was one of the most arousing looks I've ever seen, and I've been dead for decades.

The Sabbat guy didn't seem to mind the look at all, and even beckoned her closer. Uiko smiled broadly and chugged her drink as she danced on over. Drinking the Jack and Coke was essential to the plan. The guy had to know he was in the prince's club. The only way he would have dared come in here was if he knew that the only real threat he might face would be from ghouls. By drinking Coke, Uiko would do just about all she could to dissuade him from ever suspecting her of being kindred. That would get her close, and that's all we would need. The four danced below us for almost an hour before they decided they needed a break. By then the mortals were dripping with sweat, and the two vampires were covered with sweat from bumping into bodies around them.

They started talking once they left the dance floor, and I assumed that Uiko had things well in hand. She was instructed to get everyone over to a bar outside the dance club, and it appeared that she was succeeding in her assignment. The group passed out of view, and I hoped that they would get to where they were supposed to, as that was where Michelle and Erica were waiting. I stood there for a couple of minutes, making certain that they did not come back onto the dance floor, and then walked outside and downstairs to meet up with the others. I was greeted with the sight that I expected – Uiko and the Sabbat guy, with their two mortals, and Michelle and Erica a short distance away, waiting to make their move into the conversation.

"Oh, there you are," Uiko called out as soon as she saw me. "I got you this." She handed me another Alabama Slammer as I walked up, and I took it with a smile. "This is Darius," she said, motioning toward her target, "and these two are Sandy and Donna." I nodded as she made the introductions. _Darius?_ I thought, wondering how in hell the guy could have thought that was a cool name. I had a hard time restraining myself from laughing. "Everyone, this is my brother, Johnny," Uiko added.

"Hi," I said gregariously, broadening my smirk a little to try to seem a little intoxicated. That would help me seem even less the vampire. "Have you seen Erica and Michelle?" I asked, knowing that they were about to walk into view any second. Right on cue, the other two in our would-be pack walked out of a group of Spring Breakers and joined us.

"There you are," Michelle said to me. "We were looking all over."

"Shoulda just looked by the bar," Uiko pointed out. My childe then made another round of introductions, saying that Michelle was my girlfriend, and that Erica was Michelle's cousin. The Ventrue antitribu seemed to recoil somewhat at the thought of having a Gangrel as a cousin, but no one but me seemed to notice.

"So, can we leave, or what?" Michelle asked.

"The night's still young," Darius commented, seeming pleasingly comfortable and completely unaware that he was surrounded by kindred that were devoting part of their concentration to coming up with new and interesting ways to kill him. "Why would you want to leave already?"

"I'm not 21 yet," Michelle griped, playing her role perfectly. "I can't drink here. They're actually pretty strict."

"I noticed," Darius said sympathetically. "Why don't we all go back to my hotel room?" he offered. "My roommates from school were supposed to come down here with me, but they couldn't make it. They still paid their share, but I get the place to myself. It's incredible. I have a big tub of punch up there, since I was planning on finding people to have over later."

_I bet you were,_ I thought, surprised at the guy's audacity. I knew that the punch would almost certainly be red, and that he would have put some of his own blood into the mixture. That would be enough to get the mortals started on their way to becoming full-fledged ghouls.

"That sounds great," Donna said. I saw the "X" written in black marker on her right hand, so I knew she wasn't old enough to get served at the club, either.

"Fine with me," Uiko cooed, rubbing her hip slightly against Darius' thigh.

"Then it's decided," Darius announced, not waiting for anyone else's assent. We all began to follow him out of the club. No doubt he was patting himself on the back at this point, congratulating himself for coming up with a way to get six potential ghouls rather than only two. He was a jackass.

Darius, Donna, Uiko, and Sandy all rode in Darius' car, a 2000 Jeep Wrangler that, of course, had the top off. I followed in the same old beautiful Mustang GT convertible that I had left New Orleans with. As we were about to pull away, I turned to Erica in the back seat. "Would you mind moving over a slight bit?" I asked. She only gave me a puzzled look in response. "There's been a Nosferatu following this clown, and I was thinking he might want to come along and stake out the guy's hotel room in case any of his buddies show up."

" Nosferatu?" Erica asked nervously. She moved over, and we all heard someone jump into the back seat, though we couldn't see anyone.

"Thank you," a gruff voice said, seemingly out of thin air.

"No problem," I said with a grin. Not only did I get to do a favor for one of the locals, but I also got to see the look on Erica's face when she realized she would be sharing the back seat with an unseen Nosferatu. It's always been the little things that make undeath worth living.

We ended up pretty far down the strip, at a place called the Sandpiper Hotel. It was really nice, situated right on the beach. Darius took us up to his room, and, as promised, there was a large tub filled with punch. As I had expected, it was red. He immediately went about adding ice as he told us to make ourselves at home. It was a much larger room than he needed – you could have fit at least half a dozen people comfortably. Then again, it was pretty much perfect for what he seemed to have in mind for us.

"Nice digs," Donna commented as she looked around.

I caught Uiko directing a sideways glance toward me, and I knew she was wondering if we could kill the Sabbat vamp yet. I shook my head ever so slightly, wanting to wait as long as we could before we made our move. I was hoping he would drop some clue as to the whereabouts of one or two of his compatriots, or maybe even keep us around long enough to have one or two of his buddies actually show up.

"Wanna play a drinking game or something?" Sandy asked, looking expectantly at everyone in the room. I noticed that she was checking me out in particular. That was pretty cool. Well, it was cool as long as Michelle didn't notice. While she was tolerant of Uiko (and by tolerant, I only mean that she hadn't shot her yet), Michelle always held a bit of jealousy wherever mortals were concerned. I think it's largely because mortals are completely different than her, and therefore she seems to think they can give me something she can't. Other than warm blood, though, not much comes to mind that would justify Michelle's concerns.

"Drinking games would be cool," Uiko said, looking at Darius coyly, making certain she would get to be up close to her prey.

"Oh, I suppose," I said reluctantly. To tell the truth, drinking games just haven't been much fun since I stopped being able to get drunk. Well, I suppose I could have bit into Sandy's or Donna's throat in order to get a buzz, but I think that might have tipped off Darius that we weren't all who we said we were. The social aspects of the games were, I hoped, enough to get me through the night.

"You can't play, you know," Erica said to Michelle.

"And why not?" she asked, though both girls knew perfectly well that they would gag if either one took so much as a sip of any of the punch.

"You're the designated driver," Erica said.

"So you, Johnny, and Uiko are the only ones playing with us?" Donna asked.

"I'm not playing either," Erica said.

"Why not?" Sandy asked.

"It's against my religion," Erica answered, apparently without thinking. She could have told just about any half-cocked lie, and it would have worked. Of course, this didn't.

"What religion is that?" Donna inquired, her face contorting slightly. I think she was having trouble with the thought of belonging to a religion that didn't allow drinking. If that were the case, though, she's not very bright. After all, there are lots of religions that don't permit consumption of alcohol.

"Umm.... I'm a... uhh... Muslim?" Erica answered, obviously sounding as if she had picked a religion at random, hoping that it would be right. Luckily for her, she was correct – strict Islam doesn't allow drinking. Unluckily for her, in America there is the definite stereotype of **all** Muslims being Arabic.

"Yeah, right," Sandy said, smiling thinly.

"She's just fucking with you," I said, hoping to smooth things over. I didn't like the slightly suspicious look that was creeping onto Darius' face. "She's actually Mormon. And this is the first time I ever, even in jest, heard her not say it proudly."

"Fuck off," Erica countered.

"You know, you shouldn't be swearing, either," I said.

"So why don't you be designated driver and let Michelle play?" Sandy asked.

"Because Michelle promised to do it," Erica answered quickly. "She should keep her word, even if she doesn't have to."

"See what I said," I commented with a smirk, "she's Mormon all right."

"Really," Sandy agreed, turning away from Erica and directing her attention to a small table in the center of a sorta undersized version of a living room. "Do you have any cards or anything?"

"Umm... no," Darius said, obviously disappointed with himself for not having remembered an important detail like that. For a brief moment I considered breaking out the deck of cards I had in my pocket (not only do I like horse racing, I'm also a fan of card games), but I decided I'd rather watch the Sabbat squirm to figure out something to do.

"Any dice?" Donna asked.

"Nope," Darius replied.

"So what are we gonna do?" Sandy asked dejectedly. "We have all this great punch, and no sporting goods."

"We could play, like, Truth or Dare or something," Donna suggested. "That would be cool."

"And how exactly is that a drinking game?" Uiko asked.

"Well, it's not gonna be any fun if we play it sober," I pointed out. I saw Erica walking over to the group, obviously interested in the possibility of playing Truth or Dare, but I stared her down very quickly. She was supposed to be playing the role of a Mormon now, and there was no way on God's green earth that a Mormon would play Truth or Dare.

"You gonna play this?" Donna asked Erica. Apparently, she had seen my Ventrue antitribu cohort approaching before I could try to send her away.

"I... uh... don't know," Erica said uneasily. "I don't know if I should."

"Is it against your religion or something?" Sandy asked. The way Sandy and Donna were ganging up on people in conversations, I figured they had to be sorority sisters somewhere. That reminded me to get into a topic of conversation.

"So, where do you guys go to college?" I asked the three from Club La Vela.

"We go to Penn State," Donna said, gesturing to herself and Sandy.

"Oh really?" I asked, extremely glad that the sheriff had tipped us off to this Sabbat conspiracy. "That's where Michelle, Uiko, and I go, too."

"No way," Donna said. "Where do you live?"

"We all share an apartment in Beaver Hill," I replied, referring to one of the local apartment buildings in State College.

"We live on campus," Donna said. "Down in South."

"Sorority?" I asked. They both smiled and nodded, and my stomach turned with distaste. All we needed now was for the two of them to be really easy, and they would fit the 'sorostitute' stereotype perfectly.

"So, who wants to go first?" Sandy asked, sitting on the floor next to the tub of punch and looking at everyone eagerly. "How about you, Erica?"

"I don't think so," the Ventrue antitribu answered reluctantly. I could tell, despite her words, she wanted to be all over this game.

"Come on," Donna said. "You'll only be here on Spring Break once. No one here's ever gonna say anything."

"Ok," Erica said, a bit too easily I thought. I figured she could have at least have made some crack about how, while no people outside the room would ever know, God still would, or something like that. Instead, she folded in the face of temptation as quickly as a high-school aged Catholic. And I seriously doubt she ever felt guilty later the way a Catholic would have been guaranteed of being.

"So, truth or dare?" Donna asked.

"Dare," Erica said with a smug smile. Seemed she was just **way** too eager to get into the game. I mean, you should really start out with at least a couple of truths first, just to break the ice if nothing else.

"Fine," Donna replied. She seemed to sit in thought for awhile, and then smiled broadly. "Ok, you have to make out with Johnny for thirty seconds."

"What?" Michelle and I asked in unison. Donna only grinned in response.

"That's my cousin's boyfriend," Erica said, reminding everyone of the lie we had planted.

"So?" Donna asked. "You wanted to play the game."

"Do I get credit for a dare on this, too?" I asked, making certain I smiled and filled up a cup with some punch. Darius was sitting down on the floor across from us, seeming very comfortable. I figured I should follow suit. It would have looked far out of place for a mortal to voice too much of an objection to having to make out with a woman as hot as Erica. I figured I'd just have to grin and bear it. That was pretty big of me, wasn't it?

"Fine," Erica said, also a bit too quickly.

"Your boyfriend **never** finds out about this," I said as Erica leaned in.

"Depends on how good you are," she said with a teasing smile.

"No, seriously," I said, pulling my head back away from her. "He **NEVER** finds out about this."

"Fine," Erica agreed. She leaned in and I let her kiss me. Boy, I'll tell ya, that K.T. is a lucky guy. Erica can really kiss. Anyway, I don't know that I've ever experienced a shorter thirty seconds. It was over before I knew it, and way too soon for my tastes.

"Nice job," Donna said pleasantly. "It's your turn now."

"Sandy, truth or dare?" Erica asked.

"Truth," the girl answered.

"Coward," Erica said wickedly. "So, how old were you when you lost your virginity?" I guess she had to ask that question, right? I mean, it's somewhere in the Truth or Dare rulebook that at least half of the participants have to answer that.

"Fourteen," the girl answered, not surprising anyone.

"Truth or dare?" she immediately asked me.

"Fuck," I muttered. I had hoped I wouldn't be picked on this soon. I had been holding out hope that a few more Sabbat would show up and we could end the game in favor of killing some people. Wait, that sounded really bad. When I say kill some people, I mean vampires, not mortals. And when I say vampires, I'm referring to the Sabbat. While the Sabbat may not be as truly sinister as the Camarilla always says (at least not when compared to the Camarilla, that is), the fact of the matter is that most people in the Sabbat are assholes, and therefore I have no qualms about busting a cap in their asses.

"Fucking was not one of your options," Sandy shot back. "At least not yet, anyway," she added with a vaguely seductive smile.

"I guess truth," I answered reluctantly.

"Fine," she answered. "Have you ever cheated on Michelle?"

"You mean besides making out with her cousin just now?" I asked with a smile, hoping the joke would help ease the fury I was sensing from Michelle's direction. She seemed eerily intent on hearing my answer to the question. "Define cheating," I said, trying to make myself seem as wily as one of my greatest heroes – Bill Clinton.

"Cheating is sleeping with someone else," Sandy clarified.

"Ok, define 'is,' " I said in a slightly Southern accent.

"What?" Sandy answered. "Stop being a dick and answer the question."

"Well, I guess so," I answered truthfully. Of course, Michelle knew that I slept with Uiko, and occasionally also Mel. Hell, she joined us on a regular basis.

"How many times?" Sandy asked.

"That's another question," I answered, mentally patting myself on the back for being more clever than the sorostitute... for whatever that's worth. "Why don't you wait until your next turn?" I suggested. Sandy looked all pouty, and that made me happy.

"So, Darius, truth or dare?" I asked, hoping to get a chance to do some reconnaissance.

"Dare," he answered entirely too willingly. Shoulda known the asshole wouldn't have been willing to share a few of his secrets.

"Well then, massage Donna's breasts for thirty seconds," I said, trying to come up with something to pay her back for making me kiss Erica (see how I've already convinced myself that kissing Erica was an undesirable chore?).

"What?" Donna asked. It seemed that was her token resistance, though, because rather than say another word she sat back and stuck her chest out a little. Apparently, she had played this game quite a few times before. I can't say I was entirely surprised.

"Truth or dare?" Darius asked Uiko as soon as he finished Donna's chest massage.

"Dare," Uiko answered boldly.

"Flash me," Darius said. Uiko's only response was to take off her shirt and then slip out of her bra, leaving her clothes in a small heap next to her. She then reached into the punch bowl, took out a piece of ice, and started to caress her breasts with it, causing her nipples to get hard. Next, as if that wasn't enough already, she arched her back slightly and started to moan with pleasure. While everyone's eyes were focused on her chest, I saw her take a small knife from an ankle sheath with her left hand and discreetly place it under her shirt and bra next to her. She went on for over a minute, and then suddenly stopped and turned to me, apparently satisfied that her distraction had been effective in setting up our prey.

"Johnny, truth or dare," she said gleefully, not bothering to get dressed again after her exhibitionist display. I saw her hand moving slightly beneath the shirt she had taken off, and I was starting to get a good idea of what she was thinking.

"Dare," I said boldly.

"Well, time to find out just how well the Greeks drink," Uiko said with a smile. "You, Donna, and Sandy fill up your cups and then have a chug race."

"Good idea," I said. It seemed that Uiko had pretty much decided on immediate action, and I was fine with that. This game was getting boring. I raced the two girls, making certain I stayed just far enough ahead the whole time so that they finished the whole cup. I knew it would be a good idea to get them either sick or drunk as quickly as we could, so that we could get the hell out of there and have some real fun.

"I'll be back in a minute," Sandy said apologetically as she placed her plastic cup on the floor next to her. Her legs trembled and her face turned a slight shade of green as she stood up and dashed toward the bathroom.

"She'll be fine," Donna assured us. Not that I cared. The girl could yack all she wanted, it wasn't like I was gonna be feeding from her anytime soon.

"Truth or dare?" I asked Uiko.

"Truth," she said with a smile that was far more unsettling than I had expected from her.

"Fine," I said. "How long has it been since you killed anyone?"

"What?" Donna asked. Darius seemed to shift slightly, too, but he didn't move nearly enough to give himself even half a chance.

"Far too long," Uiko said as she moved her hand in a blur. Her brief flash of motion left her knife embedded in Darius' chest. Donna was about to scream when Michelle backhanded her, her face displaying a little too much satisfaction with the movement. Without anyone saying a word, Erica moved over to the bathroom door and made sure Sandy wouldn't be able to just walk out onto the scene.

"So now what?" Michelle asked, looking down at the sorority girl with disdain.

"Undress her," I instructed. "Erica, you help her. Uiko, go in there and knock the other one unconscious. We'll douse them in alcohol and leave them naked together in a bed in the other room. I'll alter their memories enough to make them think that the game of Truth or Dare devolved into a three-way with Darius, and that he left them alone when they passed out. Between the memories and the fact that they'll wake up in bed together tomorrow, you can be sure neither one of them is going to be mentioning this night to anyone. Then we can take Darius here and give him to the Nosferatu. We'll make a gift of him, and I'm certain that if he knows anything, he'll give it up."

"Good plan," Erica commented as she slid Donna out of her jeans.

"I thought so," Johnny said. "Now let's get this done and get out of here. We have to get back and get some rest. We have more of these clowns to whack this week, and we also have to fit in some much overdue vacation time."

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To be continued.............................


	4. Dude, Where's My Car?

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

****

III – Victims 2 & 3: Dude, Where's My Car?

I awoke the next evening to the sound of the phone ringing next to the bed. Luckily, Michelle answered it quickly enough to prevent me from actually having to move right away. "Yeah, he's here," she muttered into the phone, obviously no more pleased than I had been about being awakened so early. She handed the phone off to me, and I cursed whoever it was that was calling.

"Hello?" I asked groggily.

"Hey Johnny, this is Jeremy," an all-too-cheerful voice called form the other end of the line. I looked at the clock and figured that the sun could only have set less than five minutes earlier. This guy simply had way too much energy.

"What the hell do you want?" I asked.

"One of our Nosferatu just called in about a minute ago," Jeremy said. "She had a bird watching the haven of two Sabbat vampires, and found out that they're planning on going to the supermarket when they wake up. The plan is supposedly to pick up some women while buying beer."

"There's an original idea," I replied.

"If you get there fast, you should be able to intercept them," Jeremy said.

"Fine," I answered. "We'll get going right away." I hung up the phone and looked at the three women in the bed with me. God I wish I were still alive. Anyway, with a little gentle prodding they were all up and dressed within five minutes. It's just another benefit of being dead – just try getting a mortal woman to get ready that quickly.

"So, who called?" Erica asked as she walked in. She went up to a mirror and straightened a Mets cap on her head as she waited expectantly for an answer.

"We just got a line on some new targets," Mel answered. Damn childer never know when to shut up. I didn't want Erica to come with us this time, but now it seemed unavoidable. Of course, with her along, I would probably have to talk less. That would give me plenty of time to think of any plausible reason for the locals asking me to whack these guys after tracking them down in a supermarket beer aisle, rather than simply have the Nosferatu take them out in their own haven. A lesser man would really start to get irked about having his vacation time eaten into like this. I decided right then and there that I would have to stick it to the Ventrue at some point before I left town.

"You gonna try to keep me out of it again?" Erica asked.

"Oh, not at all," I replied, sounding as happy as I could. I must admit that I'm getting a lot better at faking being pleased. It must come from dealing with so many Ventrue princes.

"Great," she said with a smile. "So where are we going?"

"Supermarket," I answered absently as I slipped into my Birkenstock sandals.

"Exciting," she said sarcastically.

"We have to hurry, though," I added. Without another word I was moving toward the door, grabbing a backpack as I went. It had all my weapons inside, and I would get them together on the drive. It was a few miles into town, and another couple of miles once we got there. Mel, Uiko, Michelle, and Erica all followed me out to the circular drive, and I walked over to the Jeep Wrangler that I had stolen from Darius the night before. I figured he wouldn't be needing it anymore, and with him being dead and all, it wouldn't be getting reported stolen anytime soon. Besides, having a Jeep with the top off is a great way to attract attention and pick up women. The more women I pick up, the more parties I'll get to go to. The more parties I get to go to, the more I'll be able to feed. Can't argue with that logic, can ya?

So I raced into Panama City and drove toward the one supermarket on the main drag. The parking lot was fairly crowded, which is not surprising if you think about it. First of all, the place was selling cases of beer for under ten dollars (although I have to point out that it was cans, not bottles, and therefore not as good). Second, any students that had come down from Pennsylvania would be blown away by the convenience of being able to buy beer in a grocery store. Goddamn overly conservative Pennsylvania legislature never allowed such a convenient luxury to its citizens. The result is that a lot of people end up buying beer by the case at a distributor rather than just getting a six-pack at the grocery store. I have yet to figure out how that cuts down alcohol consumption.

So we went inside, not having a clue who it was that we were looking for. We wandered the aisles absently until I felt a slight tugging on the back of my t-shirt. "The two you're looking for are with the beer," a voice said. I guessed a Nosferatu had found us. Well, either that or the supermarket was haunted.

"That's what I would have expected," I muttered, deciding that I would just assume that I was talking to a Nosferatu. "Any chance you could steer me in the right direction?"

"Aisle 13," the voice replied.

"Go to Aisle 13," I told the women. "Jeremy said these two are guys, so they'll be out to pick up women. We'll have our friend point them out to you, and then you'll offer to pay for the beer if they buy it for you. Tell them you're all under twenty-one."

"And ask them if we can drink at their place?" Mel asked.

"You catch on quickly, grasshopper," I replied. "Now shake a tail. We have to get to these two clowns before anyone else does."

While the women went to work their magic, I wandered into Aisle 7, which just happened to have the snack foods in it. Now, I know everyone has their own favorite munchies to have with their beer, but I've always been partial to pretzels. The really thick, sourdough ones that always make you think you're gonna chip your teeth. Personally, I feel that Snyder's of Hanover makes the best ones, so I grabbed a bag of those and headed back toward the cash registers, hoping that my partners in crime had accomplished their objective. As I walked out of Aisle 7, I immediately was met with a sight that brought a tear to my eye.

Erica, Michelle, Uiko, and Melissa were leading two men, whom I figured were our targets, and also three other women. It seemed like there was going to be a great party somewhere. I just didn't get what it was about these Sabbat guys, though. First, Darius thinks he's all Rico Suave with the ladies the night before, and then this pair of Thompson Twins is carrying on like they're gonna score with all these women. As if. The only conclusion I could reach was that both of them were fairly young.

As I walked up to the group, I pondered the matter a little bit, and it made sense that the Sabbat would send in young vampires rather than more experienced ones. The mission appeared to be to seduce unwitting mortals and turn them into ghouls slowly, without raising suspicion. To say that most Sabbat vamps have little respect for mortals is an understatement. They'd almost have to get some young ones to do the job. Then a new, disturbing thought occurred to me. _What if they're really not Sabbat?_ Let me tell you, that thought did not sit well with me. There I was, fresh off a mission where I had worked my ass off to make certain that I never targeted a single anarch or become involved in internal politics, and then all of a sudden I found myself in a situation where I might unwittingly be capping anarchs. Not good. Very not good.

"I got some munchies," I said as I walked up to the group.

"Who are you?" one of the guys asked. He stood about six feet tall, had blonde hair, and seemed to be about college age. His slender frame indicated that, at least as a mortal, he had had very little interest in anything athletic.

"He's my boyfriend," Uiko interrupted before I could say anything.

"Uhh.... yeah," I put in nervously. I could actually feel waves of fury rolling off of Michelle. Originally, I had been hoping that I could do this second hit in a short time. Then, all of a sudden, faced with the prospect of talking to Michelle once we were done, I was trying to think of a way to draw this all out until about Christmas. "Actually, I'm her boyfriend, too," I added without thinking, pointing toward Michelle.

"Really?" one of the other girls said. "You're like a threesome?"

"Foursome, actually," Mel put in. In one fluid motion she grabbed me by the back of the head and laid a major passionate kiss on my lips. It couldn't have taken long, but I felt like we were playing tonsil hockey for several minutes before she let go. I caught her shoot a sideways glance toward Michelle and grin wickedly, and Michelle shot back daggers with her eyes. All of a sudden, even Christmas was seeming too soon to finish off these guys.

"Dude, you the man," the second guy said. He was taller than the first one, and built a little more heavily. Long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and brown eyes scanned the whole group of us. "Is she available at least?" he asked, motioning toward Erica.

"Better ask her," I said.

"So, how about it?" he asked K.T.'s girlfriend.

"If, by 'available,' you mean I'm willing to fuck, then the answer is 'yes,' " she replied flirtatiously. Well, maybe 'flirtatious' isn't exactly the right description. Maybe it's better to say that Erica does a bang-up job of talking like a complete slut. Leave it to K.T. to abandon a girlfriend like that in Panama City during Spring Break. What a jackass. He's gotta be one of the dumbest people I know.

"Cool," the taller Sabbat replied. "Oh, my name's Ben," the guy told me. "He's Sam." I nodded, concluding that other introductions must have been made in the beer aisle.

While we were checking out, I had to stop to think about some of the stuff that had been going on. I had to admit, everything seemed incredibly sexual all of a sudden. I had spent several years being a diplomat, and had left civilian life far behind. But then all of a sudden I have Mel, Michelle, and Uiko publicly claiming to have a foursome with me, and Erica is intimating that she's gonna fuck some guy she doesn't know. All this after Uiko did her little thing with the ice cube the night before. It was a little much. I kept pondering the issue when I saw a group of college kids walk in the entrance. The split group, men and women, seemed to be in a very worked-up, social mood. More than that, though, you could see several of them flirting with each other. It was as if there was something in the air. The entire city seemed to be awash in a sea of hormones. Then it finally dawned on me – the college students on Spring Break are, in fact, awash in hormones. They had come on vacation, away from the cold north, and shed several layers of clothes. Then, in a vacation atmosphere, they partied as if there were no consequences. It was incredible. I suddenly caught a slight hint of the atmosphere of Spring Break, a sensation I had not felt since I had been mortal.

So the humans were running around, drunk and horny, and the kindred were all feeding on them, taking in increased levels of hormones with the blood. It was no wonder that everyone was acting really weird. I decided to be the voice of reason (no laughing... no, seriously, stop laughing), and resolved to keep my companions well in check.

By the time I had reached my epiphany (isn't that a cool word?), the beer had been paid for and we were headed out to party. We had just stepped into the parking lot when I realized that something was very wrong – the Jeep was gone.

"Fuck," I cursed, attracting everyone's attention.

"Oh, no," Michelle said a moment later, apparently realizing what was wrong.

"What's up?" one of the girls asked.

"Someone stole my car," I complained. It's not that it broke my heart or anything. I had only stolen the car less than twenty-four hours earlier, so it's not like it had time to grow on me or anything, but it's just the principle of the thing. I went to the trouble of stealing it fair and square, and then some snot-nose punk comes along and steals it from me. Are there no honest people left in this world or what?

"Well, we have a car," the three girls offered, looking me over anxiously. I knew what each of them was thinking – _if he's good enough to please those other three women, I wonder what he can do for me._ They were obviously wise beyond their years.

"You mind giving me a lift?" I asked.

"Not at all," one of them offered. "My name's Beki. That's Carol, and Jules," she added, introducing me to her two friends. We were actually planning on running back to our hotel room really quickly to get changed. If you don't mind waiting, we can go out to Sam and Ben's place in a little bit. It's not like you'll really be able to squeeze into their car."

"I think you can make it," Michelle said to me, seeming to have reached the same conclusion about the women that I already had.

"There's already six of us in their car," Uiko pointed out, not having waited for Sam or Ben to offer to drive them. She took it as a given that they would offer. She's so smooth, it sometimes makes me jealous. Oh, wait did I say 'jealous?' I meant 'proud.' "I think Sam and Ben are just going to have to suffer with the four of us until the rest of them can make it," she added. This time I noticed the meaningful look in Uiko's eyes, and I knew she was planning on taking out our two targets before I returned with the mortals and they got in the way. It was definitely heads-up thinking on my childe's part.

"Oh, I see how it is," I commented. "You're just lucky we have an open relationship," I commented. "Make sure you're not any rougher with either of those guys than you were with that poor kid last night. I hoped she caught my meaning – don't kill them. I wanted to know for sure that they were actually Sabbat. It's not that I didn't trust the prince and her sheriff... it's just that I didn't believe a single word they said. I hope you catch the subtle distinction.

"Sure thing," Uiko yelled back as she and the others followed Ben and Sam. I wandered off behind the three women, hoping that Michelle and the others would be ok. I figured they would be. The two vampires they were with probably didn't expect anything. Uiko and Mel, especially, had done an exceedingly good job of acting like horny college girls. Erica had also been convincing. Michelle... well, she would probably be pretty quick with the shooting part.

With our targets set up and separated from the eyes of mortals, I decided to do the best job I could of making certain these women were not looking to go anywhere for a long time. I knew I might very well have to put out, but if that was what was required in service of my clan, then I was willing to do it. No one could ever accuse me of not taking my responsibilities seriously.

------------------------

Now I know what you're thinking – _Johnny, if vampires derive no physical pleasure from sex, then why did you just nail those three college girls._ Well, the answer is simple. So, like you said, I don't derive any pleasure, but that doesn't mean that they don't. In fact, as far as performance goes, I'm better than Sting, what with all that tantric crap he does. A slight shifting of blood within my body, and I'm good to go. Just burn a little more, and I feel warm enough to actually not be a corpse. Then, well... let's just say that as I'm dead, I'll never have another orgasm. That means I can, quite literally, go all night. (I just have to make sure I get out of there before dawn, when I'll collapse into a semi-comatose state until the next sunset. Something tells me that might freak out whatever mortal woman I happen to be with at the time.) Not that I had any interest in staying for an entire night, though. As soon as I was going at it with each of them for more than about a minute, I bit into their throats and drained enough blood to make them pass out. They'll remember the experience one way, and I'll remember it another. The simple truth of the matter is that with the expenditure of a little bit of small talk, I was able to drink my fill, sating my rather large appetite. That's what it's really all about.

Then I waited around for awhile for my women to call. I was just starting to get worried when my cell phone rang. "Hello?" I asked.

"Do you have Prince Albert in a can?" Michelle asked, giggling like mad.

"Oh, grow up," I replied. "You seem to be rather more happy than I had expected."

"Well, taking out bad guys can be a huge bonding experience," she answered. My stomach started to churn as I pondered the thought of Michelle, Mel, and Uiko actually getting along really well. I almost got to see my late evening meal a second time, but managed to hold it down.

"So they're incapacitated?" I asked.

"Yep," she responded happily. "Both are in torpor right now. What do you want us to do?"

"Have Erica dominate them to find out if they're really Sabbat," I replied.

"You have any doubts?" she asked.

"Not really," I admitted. "I just want to be sure. Just in case."

"Want me to have her do it now?"

"Would you please?" I asked sarcastically. What kind of stupid question was that, anyway? What did Michelle think, that I wanted Erica to get around to that sometime in the near future, but not before we had time to go out on the town for awhile? Sometimes I have to wonder where I went wrong with my training. Maybe it's just all the Gangrel blood... A few minutes of silence followed, then Michelle was back on the phone.

"Yep, they're Sabbat," she confirmed. "Both are Brujah antitribu."

"Thanks," I answered. "Can you call Boom-Boom and have him come by to dispose of the bodies?"

"Sure," Michelle said. "Then what?"

"I want to go find my car," I answered.

"You're kidding, right?" she asked.

"Someone stole my car, Michelle," I reminded her needlessly. "You think I'm just gonna be fine with that?"

"It wasn't really yours," she pointed out. "Why not just steal another one?"

"Good point," I admitted. It was definitely a way to save some time. "Well, after that, then what?"

"We were all thinking of finding a wet t-shirt contest," Michelle sad happily.

"Oh, good God," I muttered. "How about I meet you at Spinnaker's?"

"See ya soon," she answered.

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To be continued.............................


	5. Your Mom Will Never Know

IV – Victim 4: Your Mom Will Never Know

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

****

IV – Victim 4: Your Mom Will Never Know

I guess I should have known that I was getting myself into trouble when I agreed to come to Panama City for Spring Break. Some part of my brain should have pointed out to me that this could be a disaster of epic proportions. If I had questioned such rational points, my brain could have come up with an image not unlike the one I was viewing right now and labeled it Exhibit A. There I was in a sea of horny college guys, while Uiko, Mel, Michelle, and, of course, Erica were on stage getting ready to partake in a wet t-shirt contest. So you're probably reading this, wondering to yourself, "but Johnny, you said all these women are hot. Why would this be such a terrible thing, even though you're like, dead and stuff?"

To such a dumb question I just have to say – Duh. I'm dead, and stuff. I think that pretty much sums up the problem. Just in case that wasn't enough, though, I also had to face the fact that I'm a mere five and a half feet tall. Now, I've always wondered what they fed those people in the nation's heartland, but to say these guys were certainly larger than I was would be a slight understatement. Thus, I couldn't see a goddamned thing.

I finally decided that it would be in my best interests to expend a little blood to make myself stronger, and to start using a little bit of my abilities with dominate to make these guys get the hell out of my way. Yes, yes, such use of vampiric abilities might be construed as testing the boundaries of the Masquerade, but I had to be certain that my two unreleased childer onstage didn't do anything that compromised the Masquerade even worse. Okay, I admit, that's a pretty piss-poor excuse. How about this – the aforementioned horny college guys were both too drunk and too interested in what was happening onstage to really notice much that I was pushing them around far too easily, and that some of the guys in the audience were far too eager to get out of my way when I demanded it.

So just at about the point that everything was ready to get started, I had worked my way pretty much to the front of the crowd. Then the only thing I had to deal with was the mass of humanity pushing me forward into the bottom of the stage as every guy in the audience tried desperately to get those precious few inches closer. I almost killed a couple of them just as a warning to the rest, but I concluded that would certainly have pushed the envelope of the Masquerade just a little too far.

Some really obnoxious though strangely gripping techno music started blasting over four large speakers set aside the stage. It took me a few seconds, but then I realized that the song was a remix of the Sneaker Pimps' 'Spin Spin Sugar,' and somehow recognizing the song made the thumping, repetitive bass far easier to bear. The women onstage were all wearing thin white t-shirts that they had all tied tightly in a knot in the small of their backs. Thus, the shirts were as form-fitting as possible, and the fact that the fabric was thin enough as to be faintly transparent was only enhanced. Then some really dorky guy with a microphone walked out onstage, followed by a burly guy carrying a hose and another dorky guy carrying a large red bucket in each hand.

The guy with the microphone started screaming something about some local radio station that was sponsoring the event, and that this was the umpteenth annual wet t-shirt contest, and blah, blah, blah. The truth is that no one there cared, or was even bothering to listen. So finally the three guys turned to the thirteen (yes, thirteen) girls lined up behind them, and the guy with the microphone started to ask a few questions of each of them. You know, it was the usual "and what's your name little girl?" spiel that you always get at these things. I think he followed up by asking their favorite color, whether they preferred puppies or kittens, and what their major turn-ons and turn-offs were. I really wasn't paying too much attention, though. I was far more interested in the look in Uiko's, Mel's, and Erica's eyes. Each of them, and three of the other girls, too, I noticed, were all staring at one of the guys in the front row (and that guy **wasn't** me!!!). I followed their gaze and set my sights on what I figured was the dorkiest guy I had seen yet. "How dorky was he?" you ask? Well, let me tell ya – this guy must have been maybe 5'10" and probably weighed about one-twenty soaking wet. He was a total string bean. He was dressed in some cut-off blue jean shorts and a wife-beater, and his hair was cut in a mullet. He looked like some local that had fallen out of a bubble from the late 1980's. For a moment I felt sorry for the guy (especially since the d.j. wasn't playing Warrant or Mister Bigg), but then I started to wonder why so many hot women were even noticing he was there. I mean, I would have understood if they were pointing and laughing, but they weren't. It's like, Uiko and Mel, two hot women that sleep with me every day, were both gazing at this guy like he was the second coming (when of course, as everyone should know by now, **I'm** the second coming). This, of course, could only mean one thing – Mullet had to have been using some kind of mental powers against these girls. I've seen some freaky guys get some incredible chicks in my time, but there was simply no excuse for the phenomenon that I was witnessing there that night.

I looked farther down the line of women, and saw that besides the six I had originally noticed, none of the others, including Michelle, were affected at all by this clown. _He must be using Presence,_ I concluded. See, I don't know if I mentioned this power earlier, so I'll describe it now. Presence is actually the name for a set of vampiric abilities which some of our kind develop over the years. At its simplest it can hold people around the vampire in a bit of awe. It usually only affects a small group of people, while leaving the rest unaffected. It seemed to me that this is what I was dealing with there. Michelle glanced at her three newest friends, and then out at the guy in the audience. Then I saw her gaze at me, and nod her head in Mullet's direction. She seemed to have come to the same conclusion I had.

The question that confronted us, then, is whether this vampire was of the Sabbat or not. I was willing to wager that no vampire within the Camarilla would be boneheaded enough to use his powers in such a public way, but that didn't mean anarchs were above such a display. Since the prince had granted the anarchs safe passage for the duration of Spring Break, I wouldn't be allowed to kill this jackass until I knew for sure whether he was a good guy or bad guy. The only thing I could do was call Boom-Boom. Of course, I couldn't hear a damned thing from my cell-phone, not with all these guys shouting as the water started up and the volume of the music was raised about a hundred decibels. So I waited until I figured his phone would have rung three times, and hoped he had answered it. If not, this was going to be rather pointless. "Hey Boom-Boom," I yelled into my phone. "Don't bother responding, since I can't hear you at this end, but I have a question about some clown down here on the beach by the Monarch Hotel," I shouted. "There's a big wet t-shirt contest going on, so you really can't miss it. Anyway, some guy down here is glowing with Presence, so I want to know whether or not I'm allowed to deal with him. Just come by ASAP." As I hung up, I admitted that I could simply have left the front row to make my call, which would have allowed me to carry on a real conversation, but after all the time and energy I had spent getting to the front row, there was no way I was gonna leave. Besides, I had to keep an eye on Mullet.

So the dorky guy with the buckets started going from girl to girl, dousing them all with a bit of water to get their t-shirts nice and wet. They all danced provocatively (or tried to, anyway... some of them moved like rejects from a casting call for a Golden Girls disco episode) as the music grew even louder, and the guys started to yell their heads off. Then the guy with the hose started moving down the line, spraying the women with what I guessed was far colder water than had been in the bucket. They all shrieked loudly as the cool water hit them, and the guys just started to yell more. Then an organized chant of "Show your tits!" started to rise up from the masses, with an occasional cheer as one of the contestants obliged the audience. Three of my girls were still enthralled with Mullet, and I found myself getting more and more irritated by his presence. I think what bothered me most was that he hadn't used his powers on Michelle. What was she, chopped liver? So maybe she wasn't as hot as Uiko or as cute as Mel... but she was certainly on a par with Erica, and definitely better than the three mortals he had used his powers on.

The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself of two things: 1) this guy must have left Michelle out just because he somehow knew it would piss me off, and 2) this guy needed killing. I began to push my way through the throng, moving toward my latest victim, when I suddenly felt a strong hand grasp my shoulder. I turned, planning to simply shove away the mortal that had been foolish enough to try to impede my progress toward my prey, but instead I came face to face with Boom-Boom. I had no idea how he had gotten there so quickly, but I was in no mood to ask. I simply pointed at Mullet, and Boom-Boom yelled into my ear that he had no idea who the guy was. That was enough for me. With a broad smile on my face, I pushed myself the rest of the way toward the clown and stuck the barrel of my 9mm in the small of his back.

"We can do this any way you want," I yelled into his ear. "Don't be stupid enough to try anything, though. The sheriff is right behind me." Mullet turned to face me, and his face went a satisfying shade of white. I love getting to scare the hell out of the younger kindred. He nodded slightly, and then moved surprisingly quickly, trying to rush past me. To his credit, he was almost quick enough to make it. Unfortunately for him, though, he was so stupid that he tried to accomplish this virtually impossible task while a thousand guys were already pressing the entire crowd in our direction. His first two steps held promise, but then he crashed against a sea of humanity. Some college guy that had to belong to some heavy drinking fraternity looked at him angrily and punched him in the face, and I laughed as I saw blood start to trickle from Mullet's face. I knew a fight was about to start, so I put my pistol back away and put on a pair of brass knuckles I had gotten as a gift from Michelle. (That's right, nothing says lovin' like a pair of brass knuckles... all of you girls should seriously consider getting some for you significant other.) After taking a moment to collect himself, Mullet tried to swing back at his large assailant, but I blocked the punch myself and started to whale away on his head. The feeling of smashing this guy's skull was so satisfying that I almost had to start singing "Singing in the Rain," but I restrained myself from a display which would likely would have marked me as rather insane. Large Fraternity-Type Guy gave me an approving smile for my efforts, and I dragged Mullet out of the crowd very slowly.

"Yep, I certainly don't know this guy," Boom-Boom said once we had dragged our prey far enough back from the stage.

"He's Sabbat," a disembodied voice said from behind us. Both Boom-Boom and I searched for whoever had spoken, but we both seemed to reach the same conclusion at the same instant – a Nosferatu was there with us.

"Well, I guess you can have this one," I said magnanimously.

"You sure?" Boom-Boom asked.

"Well, me and mine have taken out the first three victims so far, so this will give you a chance to catch up." I made sure I gave the sheriff a very friendly smile, so that he would know I was simply joking and that he would not have to beat me for being insolent. Then he smiled back and I knew it was all right to return to the safety of my wet t-shirt contest. By the time my attention was back where it belonged, the field had been reduced from thirteen to four, and Uiko and Mel were both still onstage. I had the pride that only a sire could have when he realized his two most recent female childer both had racks that drove mortal men crazy. You know, I'm not sure that sounded too good...

Anyway, the chorus of "Show your tits" was now being joined with "Your mom will never know," and it seemed that all four women were thoroughly convinced of the truth of what the men were saying. After all, it wasn't like these guys would have had any reason to lie, right?

Thankfully both Uiko and Mel lost, thus sparing me the disaster of having them both know that one had more attractive breasts than the other. The winner, predictably enough, was a blonde sorostitute from Florida State whose favorite colors were maroon and gold, preferred kittens to puppies, found cigars to be a turn-off, and was thoroughly turned on by guys that were attracted to her d-cup breast implants.

In the whole scheme of things, though, I had to admit that the night had gone extremely well. I had fed well, and we had helped to remove three Sabbat from the streets of Panama City, all while my distinguished colleagues had formed a pseudo-friendship and partaken in a wet t-shirt contest (I never would have guessed such an activity would have been so perfect for female bonding). I looked at my watch and realized that it was only 2 a.m. Ah yes, so much debauchery available to us, and so little time...

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To be continued.............................


	6. And Now, The Main Event

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing.  My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights.  This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright.  Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

**Author's Note:** Amazing how it took me so long to write an update on this one…  Anyway, figured I should post _something_ before I have to go drinking again with **Icy Mike**.  He can get a little demanding.  Feel free to review, everyone, especially if you only have glowing praise to pass along.  :)

V – Victims 5 & 6: And Now, the Main Event 

            Surprisingly, not a whole helluva lot happened after we left the wet t-shirt contest.  We ended up kicking up our heels and hanging out for the rest of the evening, with Mason coming into town to join us at some nice outdoor bar where a reggae band was playing.  For several hours it was almost like I was really on vacation, and I was tempted to call Boom-Boom to tell him to come by and see what I was doing.  It seemed to me that visual aids might be necessary with him, and that if I provided him with a demonstration, he might be able to figure out exactly why I was so pissed off that he had me running around town chasing after Sabbat.  Maybe I should have been out there, still looking for the Sabbat bad guys to prevent them from making a move against my clan, but I figured with the losses they had taken, it was likely that they'd gone to ground for at least the rest of the night, if not for the duration of Spring Break.  Anyway, it was nice to finally be able to down a couple of rum and Cokes (or, in the ladies' case, a few daiquiris and piña coladas).

            Anyway, we ended the night on a mellow note, and I awoke the next evening with slightly less stress than I had had the previous night.  That's not to say I was stress-free or anything, just that I was a little more relaxed.  I wouldn't be completely at ease until the whole damned thing was over and done with.  So I stumbled out of bed, walking toward the living room, where I could already hear some of the women arguing.

            "If I have to watch this show just one more time, I'm going to have to kill you," Mel growled, not seeming to intimidate Michelle in the least.

            "What the hell's the problem this time?" I asked as I walked into the room, amazed that the goodwill they had developed the night before seemed to have gone the way of the 8-track.

            "She doesn't like the Simpsons," Michelle said nastily, pointing at Mel.

            "So?" I asked, not seeing where the big deal was.

            "Oh, now you're taking her side?" Michelle asked.  What the hell did I ever do to deserve this?  Just the sound of Michelle's voice was suddenly causing my stress level to rise exponentially.

            "If you accuse me of taking sides again, Michelle, I'm going to shoot you," I threatened, my tone and expression making it perfectly obvious that I was serious.  I caught a smile from Mason, who was sitting in a recliner in the corner.  I was certainly gratified that someone was amused with the situation.

            "Sorry," Michelle said sheepishly.

            "Now, Mel," I started, "what would you have Michelle put on the television?"

            "Law and Order," she replied.  Hearing that, I have to admit that I was indeed about to take Mel's side.  The decision seemed like a no-brainer.

            "Give me the remote," I said, and Michelle tossed it over to me.  I then tossed it over to Mason.  "Now here's something to remember, ladies.  The remote control is a device that belongs in a man's hands.  Don't think the rules have changed just because you happen to have died a while back."  I knew that would piss them off, but at least they would both be pissed at me, and that meant I wouldn't have to deal with them making catty comments to each other.  It was much easier to ignore them when all their venom was directed toward one target, even if that target happened to be me.  I walked out of the room just as I heard Steve Irwin start to talk about the blue sharks that swim off the coast of Australia.  _That'll teach them, I thought happily.  __If they can't get along better, they'll just have to watch the Crocodile Hunter._

            "Nice job," Erica said with a smile as I walked past one of the bathrooms.  She was busy fixing up her makeup, doubtlessly getting ready for a night on the town.  I figured she had finally gotten tired of tagging along with me and mine, and that was okay by me.  The less she was around, the less I figured K.T. would be able to blame me when Erica finally got herself into trouble.  And don't get me wrong – I _knew_ she would eventually get into loads of trouble.  It's just her way.

            "So what are you up to tonight?" I asked casually, hoping she didn't catch me trying to look down the front of her shirt.  Dying has apparently not made me any subtler, because she seemed to catch me right away.  Rather than make any comments (or shoot me), though, she simply leaned forward a little more, teasing me a bit.  I suddenly started to understand why K.T. seemed as wound up as he did.  What I couldn't understand was why I was actually interested in checking out Erica's rack.  I've commented time and again that none of this stuff should interest me in the least.  After all – I'm dead.  I could only come to the same conclusion I had reached back in the grocery store.  Every single one of the horny college students in town must have had an overabundance of hormones racing through their blood.  Since I had been drinking freely during my so-called vacation, I was only getting randier by the day.  I don't think I totally minded, though.  It felt kinda funny (like when we used to climb the rope in gym class).

            "I figured I'd go out and take in some of the sights.  Think you might be willing to come along and keep me company?" Erica asked with a thin, almost seductive smile.  It was about that time that it occurred to me that I wasn't the only vampire in Panama City that had been feeding on the multitude of horny college students.

            "Umm… I don't know about that," I answered, though there was this little part of my brain that was trying to convince me that going along with Erica would actually be a good idea.  _Go along, it's vacation, after all,_ that little voice said.  _It's not like you'll be able to relax around Michelle and Melissa, what with the way they're at each other's throats all the time._  It was a good point, but I didn't think spending 'quality time' with my mercenary friend's woman was something that would ultimately end with relaxation.  More likely it would end with me being shot in the head.  The little voice inside my head didn't stop, though.  In fact, I could've almost sworn I saw a little demon version of myself appear on my right shoulder, just like in the cartoons when someone's trying to stave off temptation.  _It's not like anything would happen,_ the little demon Johnny said.  _It would be innocent enough._  Then, predictably enough, a little angel Johnny appeared on my left shoulder, just in time to remind me that this really wasn't a good idea.  While he was certainly more rational, though, the angel Johnny definitely looked a bit gay.  I'll admit I wasn't very open to listening to him.

            _Remember, Johnny, K.T. is your friend,_ the angel reminded me.  _Friends don't do the kinds of things you're thinking about right now._

            _Oh, get off it,_ the demon Johnny countered.  _Seriously, nothing is gonna happen.  You're too into Michelle, right?  In fact, this is a great way to prove it to yourself.  If you go out with Erica and resist whatever temptation comes your way, then you're just proving to yourself and everyone else that your feelings for Michelle are incredibly strong._  I knew I was weak, and this kind of rationalization wasn't gonna do me any good.  I could remember being mortal, all of nineteen years old and virtually a slave to my hormones.  These excuses were the kinds of things that always preceded something _very_ stupid.

            "Come on, Johnny, come out with me," Erica said, and I swear to God something in her voice was actually purring.  "I'll make it worth your while."

            "What exactly did you have in mind?" I asked.  Well, actually, that's what my voice asked.  I don't actually remember ever planning to say those words… they just kinda slipped out of their own volition.

            "We could maybe try to find a nice little bar with some drunken sorostitutes," Erica suggested.  "Then we could get a quick bite and a drink, and maybe see what happens after that."

            "Probably not a good idea," Uiko said as she walked down the hall, stopping to join the conversation.  I didn't know whether to be relieved or irritated at the interruption, and that in itself was enough to convince me that it was a good thing someone else had shown up to keep me from talking alone with Erica any more.  "Aren't we here to do a job?" my ninja childe asked with a meaningful glance.  She so knew what had been going through my mind while I was talking with Erica, and she was _not_ pleased.  Understandable, since she's blood bound to me and all.  Anyway, it seemed she was willing to let me off the hook for the time being.  That was certainly good news.  I felt the need, however, to point out the error in Uiko's statement.

            "We are _not_ here to do a job," I reminded her.  "We're here to relax.  To unwind."

            "To make new friends?" Uiko asked, her gaze shifting meaningfully between Erica and me.  I suddenly realized that she might not be willing to let my contemplated indiscretion slide, after all.

            "Look, if you actually want to get some more work done, I guess we can do that," I finally said.  "Sure, let's throw away a chance for a vacation.  You'll figure out soon enough that opportunities like this are rare enough.

            "There's a clear and present danger to our clan, and you want to wander around Panama City, sharing piña coladas and God knows what else with some Sabbat fallout," Uiko complained.

            "Erica, could you give us a minute, please?" I asked pleasantly, sending away the 'Sabbat fallout' so I could have a heart to heart with my childe.

            "I don't know what you're thinking here, Uiko, but if you ever again question me or any other superior in the presence of an outsider, there will be _serious_ consequences, do you understand?" I growled.

            "Of course," Uiko muttered.  "I just don't get it, that's all."

            "We're on vacation," I said simply.  "I'm well aware that there's a threat to our clan, but there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it right now.  We don't know this town, and we don't really have any connections outside of the sheriff.  We need to wait around before we can do anything.  The locals will find our targets, and we'll take them out.  Comprendes?"

            "Sí."

            "Then get outta here," I said with a smile, trying to make sure there weren't any hard feelings.  Then I heard the front door open and close, and I walked out into the living room.  "Who left?" I asked, making a mental head count.

            "Erica," Michelle answered a pleased smile.  "She said she had to go and find herself a real man before she exploded."

            "Yeah, real chance of that happening in Panama City during Spring Break," I commented, surprised at how disappointed I was that she had left without me.  I mean, it wasn't like I'm really into her or anything, and it's not like I would enjoy the experience of having her boyfriend kill me if anything ever happened between me and Erica.  It's just that… I don't know.  I should probably get off this tangent now, as it's very likely Michelle will be reading this someday.  I think I already have enough explaining to do.

            So anyway, there we were, all hanging out, trying to decide what to do as Mason occasionally interjected a comment like, "Steve's gonna get his leg bit off for sure, this time," as he continued to gaze in fascination at the Crocodile Hunter.

            "Dude, they wouldn't air the episode if something bit the guy's-" I began, only be cut off by a knock at the door.  "What, you forget your key or something?" I asked as I opened the door, expecting to see Erica.  Instead, I came face to face with Boom-Boom.  Imagine my disappointment…

            "I don't have a key," the sheriff said gruffly as he walked right in, practically knocking me over as he entered.

            "Umm… you forgetting something?" I asked curtly.  The sheriff looked at me quizzically, then shrugged his shoulders.

            "Not that I know of," he replied, seeming honestly confused.

            "Next time I expect you to ask before you come in," I said evenly, trying to make certain the thick-headed Brujah knew his place.  For only the most fleeting of moments I saw an amused gleam in his eye, and I just knew he had done that on purpose, waiting to see how I would respond.  I guess he wanted to know whether or not I'd have the balls to point out his faux pas, or if I'd even have the stupidity to kick him out for his indiscretion.  Seemed I passed some kind of test of his.

            "Sorry," he said off-handedly, though I knew despite his casual demeanor he would doubtlessly behave more appropriately next time he visited.  "Prince wanted me to come out here and give you some info," he added.  "We found a couple of Sabbat holed up in the Holiday Inn.  The Nosferatu have had them under surveillance for a bit, and word is these two are well aware that their comrades have been getting picked off with eerie efficiency.  They've barricaded themselves inside their room, and they've got an Uzi and a couple of Mossberg assault shotguns in there with them.  I don't think I need to explain the problems this could cause."

            "Not at all," I agreed.  "All we need now is to have some hotel employee show up to see if the guys are alive or whatnot, and we'll have a bunch of dead bodies right in the middle of Spring Break."

            "That'd be _very_ bad for business," Boom-Boom said.

            "I understand completely," I assured him.  "What room are they in?"

            "711," the sheriff replied.  "Like I said, they're already under surveillance, and we cut the phone line in the room, so they can't call for any help."

            "Unless they have a cell phone," Michelle commented.

            "They don't seem to," the sheriff said.  "At least, if they do, they haven't used it yet.  They might have been told that no help would be available if there were problems."

            "We can hope," Uiko said.

            "Given the sensitive nature of the situation, I'll be available to help you, along with a couple of my deputies, if you need them."

            "We might," I said, "but not for the assault.  You think you could come up with some way to cordon off the building, to at least slow a police response if there is one?"

            "I got a better idea," Michelle said.  "Why don't we just start a fire?"

            "Start a fire?" I asked her.  _Start a fire… yeah, being a vampire, that's pretty much the one thing I'd really like to do_, I thought.  _Besides, if those clowns have any explosives…_  "Not exactly low profile activity, Michelle."

            "We could start the fire down on the fourth floor or something, across the building from where we'll be," she said quickly.  Fire regs will force management to evacuate the building."

            "Meaning there won't be any mortals around to get shot in a crossfire," Boom-Boom said happily, obviously on board with Michelle's plan.

            "Why don't we just start the fire in their room?" Uiko asked.  "It would be far simpler.  Either they'd fry, and the problem would be solved, or they'd come out, and we could take 'em down on our own terms."

            "How do you mean?" Boom-Boom asked, finally seeming like the simpleton I had concluded he was.  Made me feel better knowing his ability for tactical thinking was limited to walking up and shooting/pummeling the other guy until he stopped moving.

            "Well, we can have a couple of people outside the hotel room, and a couple of people on the ground below, in case they jump out the window or something."

            "And a couple on the roof with repelling gear, just in case something unexpected happens," Michelle added.

            "I'll take the roof with Uiko," I said, ignoring the miffed expression on Michelle's face.  In the end, Uiko was better suited to rooftop work than she was, and she knew it.  This was simply a tactical conclusion; Michelle knew better than to question me when it came to a command decision.

            "Then what should I do?" Michelle asked, choosing a more indirect approach to try to irritate me for leaving her out of the rooftop assignment.  I made sure I set my eyes on her and turned my mind on to 'Record.'  I didn't want to miss the look on her face.

            "You take Mason and set up outside the hotel room," I told her, noting with satisfaction the stunned look on her face.  She never expected me to give her any kind of command position.  "You and he will be responsible for finding some way to start a fire inside the hotel room, and for taking the two of them down quietly if they run into the hall.

            "Uh, sure," Michelle answered, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop.  It never did.

            "Boom-Boom, I need you and yours down on the street, in case they decide to pull a depressed stockbroker," I added, turning to the sheriff.  "I assume you or your superiors have mortal contacts you can use to make sure some discrete police show up."

            "There are a couple of ghouls I can arrange to have a block away when the time comes," the Brujah assured me.

            "Perfect," I said with a grin.

            "Aren't you forgetting someone?" Melissa said, crossing her arms across her chest as she glared angrily at me.  You know, if it isn't one of the women, it's another.  I can never win.  Not that I had to in this situation, though.

            I looked around the living room for a few moments, doing an obvious pantomime of a man counting over everyone in the room to see if he had forgotten anyone.  "Nope, I think I got everyone," I said sarcastically, knowing that would piss her off.  She deserved it for being so insolent.  She's gonna have to learn quickly that her place in the clan is that of a field soldier, nothing more.  Only later, when I get an idea of her abilities and her own natural tendencies with vampiric abilities, will I consider her anything more than just another grunt.

            "What am I supposed to do while you and everyone else are out?" Melissa asked.  "I have nothing to do."

            "I wouldn't say that," I said evenly.  "I definitely have something in mind for you, and that's why I'm holding you out of our early action."

            "The _early_ action?" she countered, seeming to grasp immediately that I had something up my sleeve for later.  Kudos to her – she isn't completely dim.

            "Once we get back from the hotel I'll explain everything," I assured her.  "Until then, rest up.  In fact, if you need to feed at all, feel free to go out for a bit.  I'll expect you home by midnight."  Her eyes were full of glee when she realized that I trusted her enough to go out on her own.  It was the first time I had let her out of everyone's sight since her embrace.

            "I'll see you later, then," she said as she walked straight to the door and headed out.

            We weren't far behind, only needing a few minutes to get our gear together and head out.  By the time we reached the Holiday Inn, Boom-Boom and his deputies had already arrived, and he assured us that his police ghouls were in position, ready to swoop in and clean up any unexpected messes that might spring up.****

            It didn't take long for Michelle and Mason to make it up to the seventh floor, and within minutes… you know, this whole part is really more boring than you might think.  Long story short, we flushed out the Sabbat bad guys and took them hostage.  So, why didn't we kill them right away, you ask?  Well, that's the obvious question, of course, but there isn't all that simple an answer.

            I guess I could say that the true challenge is taking down two vampires _without_ actually killing them.  That much is true, but it wasn't really my motivation.  The true reason was… well… don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I brought them back to the homestead so that Mel could kill them.  Or be killed by them.  I know it's sorta hard-core training, not unlike what you might find in the Sabbat, actually, but I wanted Mel to square off against one of them one-on-one.

            I know that doing that was dangerous, and could potentially get her killed, but I have a couple of reasons.  First, I'm a big believer in learning by doing.  So Mel has some combat training to pick up.  The best way I can think of is to get into a nice little scrap.  Mason can teach the intricacies of combat, but it's all theoretical until she puts the lessons to use.  We'll see how well Mel has picked up her lessons.  Second, and this may be the biggest reason, actually, is that Melissa was a CIA assassin while she was mortal, only a couple of short months ago.  She was great at her job, from what I hear, and she's seemed to retain some of the arrogance I'm sure she picked up with the Agency.  She has to get it through her head that she's nothing in the world of the kindred, that it'll take her decades to be considered as formidable an assassin amongst the kindred as she was amongst the kine.

            Anyway, like I said – long story short, we took the two guys prisoner and brought them home for Mel.  Not long after, my adopted childe had come home after feeding.  (She arrived at 11:58 P.M., by the way… the ability to show up on time was refreshing after spending most of my time around Michelle.)  In the basement of the building, Mason had cleared out a large fighting ring which I had figured my clanmates would appreciate for hand-to-hand training, but which I had honestly had no intention of ever using.  Seems my forethought was appropriate, though, since now I had reason to use it for Mel's 'sparring session.'

            I told Uiko to bring Mel downstairs when she came back, and at 12:01 my ninja childe walked into the large, sand-covered basement with my CIA assassin childe closely in tow.  Mel was immediately taken aback, seeing the two Sabbat chained to the far wall, and Mason holding a combat shotgun pointed at them as Michelle still worked tending their wounds.

            "What's going on here?" Melissa asked.  I noticed that as soon as she asked the question the two Sabbat seemed far more interested in their surroundings.  I guess it made sense that they wanted answers as much as Mel did.

            "I brought them back here to use for combat training," I said simply.  "You'll be fighting each of them, one after the other," I told her.

            "I'm fighting them?" Mel asked.  "Both of them?  What the fuck?"

            "I told you, you'll only be fighting one of them at a time," I repeated.

            "Still, this is bullshit," she retorted.  Stupid, stupid girl.  If she thought that was the best way to talk me out of this, she was sorely mistaken.  "Are you trying to get me killed?" she asked.

            "If it looks like you're going to get killed, we'll intervene," I assured her.

            "And what if you don't intervene in time?" she responded, her voice rising an uncomfortable octave.

            "Pray that isn't a problem," Michelle said with an evil grin, enjoying this far too much.  She obviously hoped this would provide a chance to eliminate another woman she felt (unnecessarily) was a rival for my affections.

            "What do you mean you'll intervene?" one of the Sabbat asked.  He was the larger of the two, standing probably about six feet tall with a somewhat athletic build.  If I were laying odds, I'd guess he could probably beat Mel, and he also probably hadn't had a problem with the plan until he heard that he wouldn't be allowed to kill off my childe.

            "I'd rather not let you kill her," I said absently, not even bothering to look at him as I spoke.  Instead, I continued to stare at Melissa, waiting to see what she would say next.  "Someone with her qualifications is rather hard to find."

            "So I'm gonna die either way?" he asked angrily.  "If that's the case, then fuck you, asshole.  I'll be damned if I'm gonna do anything that would help you train your neonate."

            "You'll fight," I said simply.  "It's in your nature.  I can't imagine you standing there and allowing her to rip you to pieces just to make certain she didn't learn anything constructive.

            "Watch me," he spat.  "The only thing in my nature is to fuck over the Camarilla.  If sitting still accomplishes that better than fighting, then I'll do it."

            I'll give him this much – the Sabbat clown had balls.  I seriously doubted that he'd have the discipline to carry out his threat, but the fact of the matter was that I wouldn't gain anything by letting Mel kill a non-aggressive opponent.  I didn't want to take any chances, so I decided to make a deal.  "I'll tell you what," I said to my overly opinionated prisoner.  "If you can beat her straight up, then I'll let you go," I assured him.  "I'm still not gonna let you kill her if I can avoid it, but if you win, or if we have to intervene, then I'll set you free.  I'll even give you a ten-minute head start before we go back out to recapture you."

            "Fifteen minutes," he bargained.  Okay, so he didn't just have balls, he had balls of steel.  Not a lot of sense, though.

            "Ten minutes, no more," I said evenly.  The terms were certainly generous enough; I sure as hell wasn't going to get into some kind of half-ass negotiation with a Sabbat soldier who, by all rights, should already have been dead.

            "Fine," he grumbled.  "But what about him?" he asked, looking over to his partner.

            "He's on his own," I replied with my Cheshire cat grin, the grin that pisses off everyone but Michelle.  For her it's a turn-on, for everyone else it's an irritant… I wonder what that says about Michelle.  "I'll give him the same deal – if he wins, he goes free.  If not… then, well, I guess he wasn't strong enough to be Sabbat, anyway, was he?"

            "I guess not," the larger one said with a sneer.  "And now we get to the part where I ask you how I know I can trust you."

            "Ah yes, that," I responded, doing my best to seem offended that my word alone wouldn't have been enough.  "I'm afraid I can't really give you any substantial assurances.  All I can give you is my word."

            "And you think that's good enough?" he shot back.  "You've gotta be kidding."

            "I'm a Telemon," I said, as if that should have assuaged all of his concerns.  "We're a clan full of soldiers, and our honor is actually something important to us.  I give you my word of honor as a soldier that you will go free if you win," I assured him.  The look in his eyes let me know that he didn't like the situation, but he acknowledged that he didn't have much choice.  My word, as dubious as it might seem to a Sabbat, was going to have to be enough.

            "Fine," he muttered.

            "So we're actually gonna do this?" Mel asked, still seeming stunned by the fact that I was putting her through this particular training exercise.

            "It appears so," I replied.  "You ready?"

            "No," Mel answered.  "Let me go get my knife, at least."  I nodded to Michelle, and she immediately undid the manacles of the larger Sabbat.

            He dashed across our makeshift ring and backhanded Mel to the ground.  She rolled away from a strong kick aimed at her midsection, and as she jumped to her feet she kicked him in the head, knocking him off-balance.  "I told you to wait," she screamed at me as she regained some semblance of her composure and started to stare down her opponent, each of them throwing a series of feints to test the reflexes and habits of the other.

            "Combat doesn't wait," I said evenly.  "If this particular enemy jumped you in a dark alley, would you ask him to wait while you went home to get a knife?  Of course not, childe."  He launched a punch to Mel's midsection, but missed, and followed with a right hook that landed squarely on her jaw.  She must have been rattled – I can't imagine any other way a sloppy, telegraphed punch like that could have ever tagged her, otherwise.  "You take your opponent as you find him, Melissa.  Or as he finds you.  Remember that next time."  She blocked a front kick and a quick roundhouse, and then managed to kick her opponent's kneecap dead-on.  While the Sabbat somehow kept his footing, he was obviously hurt.  He took an awkward step and a half back and began to parry for a few moments, buying time as he used his blood to mend his wound.

            Unfortunately, Mel seemed more than willing to give him all the time he wanted, as she appeared thoroughly distracted, trying to figure out how to heal her own injuries.  I have to admit I was disappointed – I had thought that by that time she would have learned the concentration necessary to heal wounds while in the middle of a fight.  The Sabbat took advantage of her hesitation and charged in, throwing another huge right hook, seemingly with the intention of knocking her head off.  In that brief moment, all of my disappointment faded and I took pride in the training job that Mason had done.

            Mel was a cat, sidestepping with a grace and speed that amazed me as she simultaneously lashed out with a flurry of punches that immediately set the Sabbat on his heels.  It was obvious that he wasn't being hurt too badly, but he was completely unable to regain his senses and counter effectively.  Another quick sidestep and Mel was behind her opponent, one hand grasping his head in a vise-like hold as the other grappled his torso for leverage.

            With a flourish of her hands, Mel snapped the neck of her opponent and he slumped to the ground.  She looked at me and smiled in triumph, and the disappointed expression I directed back reminded her a little too late that she was no longer fighting according to the rules she had learned as a mortal.  Her Sabbat foe grabbed her from behind, causing the young woman to cry out in pain as his right hand, recently having grown claws, buried itself into her right shoulder and spun her around to face him.  His left hand came around in a wide haymaker, and Mel took the strike head-on.   Her jaw was crushed under the force of the blow, and her legs crumpled beneath her, sending her to the floor.

            Now, this is where the hard part of being a sire comes into play.  One has to temper the desire to teach with a great deal of caution.  Mel was lying vulnerable in the middle of the room, and her opponent had grown claws.  I knew she could be seconds from death, and that if I didn't do something, I might be responsible for her destruction.  Not only would that be a great waste of potential, but it would also result in no small amount of paperwork, and also a lengthy explanation and apology to her sire, a man who just happens to be the head of our growing Military Intelligence unit.  However, if I didn't push her to the absolute limit, force her to confront death and elude it only by the skin of her teeth (whatever that means), then she might make a similar mistake in the future.  My goal was to teach her never to repeat an error.  I had to make certain she learned the lesson, no matter how painful it was.

            Mel showed a bit of spunk, though, when she half-rose to her feet and swept her opponent's legs from under him.  In a flash she was somersaulting backward and was on her feet again, gazing at the Sabbat as he also stood to square off once more.  I could see the pain in Mel's eyes, but she seemed to shake it off and focus on the fight rather than her obvious desire to heal her considerable injuries.

            The Sabbat approached slowly, confident but also just cautious enough to let me know he had been in this situation before.  Obviously he had survived in the past, and that made this encounter only that much more dangerous, and useful, to Mel's ongoing instruction.  The Sabbat got within kicking distance, and sent out a vicious roundhouse that seemed to me to be only a feint.  Mel came to the same conclusion, and rather than either sidestep or retreat a step, she lunged at her attacker just as he launched a vicious swipe with his claws.  Fortunately for my childe, she closed the distance quickly enough to avoid being eviscerated.  By the time the Sabbat's claw had come around enough to hit his foe, Mel was already inches away, inside the strike, an elbow strike of her own shattering his wind-pipe, and a spear-hand thrust knocking his right eye out of its socket.  He staggered back in shock, obviously trying to regain his senses, but Mel pressed the attack.  A crushing side-kick to the Sabbat's previously injured knee sent him to the ground, and then Mel was upon him, hammering away at his face with repeated palm-heel strikes, breaking bones and bruising the Sabbat's flesh.

            I thought it was over, that Mel had won against what I had decided was a superior foe, when the Sabbat let out a primal scream and swung blindly with his right hand, the beneficiary of sheer luck as his claws raked into Mel's throat, sending a crimson spray across her attacker and causing her to roll backward, obviously panicking as she grasped her neck and tried to hold her blood in.  It was obvious that she was young, that she was still reacting as a mortal would.  No one that was embraced for any lengthy period of time would have gone to pieces like she did.  We would have simply concentrated on healing the injury as we would any other.  But for Melissa, it seemed as though she had just received a mortal injury.  Just as she had reacted with glee at snapping her foe's neck, seeming to think she had won, now she displayed horror at falsely concluding that she had been killed.  It was a reaction borne of decades of mortality.  It was not something I could have expected she would be able to change in only a month of being kindred.  It would take time and experience, and as much as it hurt to see her overtaken with panic and rage, this was the kind of experience she needed.

            As she rolled around on the floor, struggling to hold her life's blood inside, the Sabbat rose to his feet again and approached, a look of determination plainly evident on his face.  He seemed to think he had already won, and judging from the completely oblivious look of fear on Mel's face, I had to agree.  She was beyond being able to put up any more resistance.  She was helpless, and only seconds away from death.

            "Uiko," I said evenly.  No other command was needed, and a split-second later there was a click and a brief hum.  The Sabbat collapsed in the center of the ring, a crossbow bolt protruding from his chest.  He was safely in torpor.  Now we only needed to decide what to do with him.

            "Joey!" the second Sabbat screamed, reminding me that we still had a second guest.  Then he turned to me, rage dancing across his eyes as he seemed to give himself to the beast.  "You said that if we won we'd be set free," he said accusingly.  "You gave us your word as a soldier."

            "Ah yes, that," I replied.  "Funny thing, actually.  See, I'm not a soldier in my clan.  I'm a diplomat.  Means I'm just little more than a politician, and one thing you can always count on politicians doing is lying."  I turned away from him and looked back to Uiko.  "Put him somewhere safe," I said, gesturing to the captive with the crossbow bolt in his chest.  "We can use him again later, I guess."

            "And him?" Uiko asked, looking back to the second one, seeming amused at the Sabbat's attempts to break free from his bonds.

            "He's all yours," I said with a smile.  "Do whatever you want."

            "And what'll you be doing?" Mason asked as he joined the conversation.

            "I think Michelle and I are goin' out somewhere for a bit," I answered vaguely.  I caught the glimmer of jealousy and anger in Uiko's eyes.  Yep, she talks a good game about being cool with Michelle and me, and I think she really is okay with us for the most part.  Once in awhile, though, she can get a bit pissy, and this seemed like one of those times.  It almost made me feel bad for our prisoner, as he was doubtlessly going to be subjected to Uiko's less than tender attentions.  Not that he didn't deserve a little pain – jackass pissed me off.

_To be continued……………………………_


	7. Auntie Em! Auntie Em! It's a Break-In!...

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing.  My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights.  This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright.  Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

VI – Auntie Em!!!  Auntie Em!!!  It's a Break-in!!!!! 

            So, in case you might not have guessed, I was a little tired after all this running around.  When I woke up the next night, I found that I had overslept by over half an hour.  Surprised?  Well, it's one of those little known facts that vampires can also oversleep.  It's sort of a no-lose proposition, actually.  See, once the sun comes up, it's virtually impossible for us to stay awake.  Then, during the day, waking up is extremely uncommon.  There have been those of us that could remain sound asleep even as a hunter showed up and staked them through the heart while blasting some old school Whodini on the stereo.  While that would suck (imagine Whodini being the last thing you hear as you're staked through the heart… yeah, see how bad that is?), there's also the good side of the whole heavy sleeper thing – you never again have a bad night's sleep.  It's absolutely fabulous.

            Anyway, as I was saying, I overslept.  So I dragged my lazy ass out of bed and got some coffee, thoroughly enjoying the look of disgust that I knew I would get from Erica when I ran into her.  In the kitchen I found Sara, my ghoul.  That struck me as strange, since I hadn't really seen her all week.  Usually she was out and about by the time I woke up, and since we didn't need her for hunting Sabbat bad guys, I was fine with that.  She'd been under a lot of stress in New Orleans, and she definitely deserved some down time.  Like some of the others in the clan say – work hard, play hard.

            So anyway, there she was, making a salad (because, as usual, she was on a diet) and looking over the newest issue of Entertainment Weekly.  (Luckily, Siras' retainer, Wong, had forwarded my subscription to me in Panama City... now if he would just tell me what happened to the '80's Wave cd's that actually induced me to subscribe in the first place...)

            "Sleep well?" she asked me with a smile.

            "Yeah," I mumbled groggily, surprising myself with my own voice.  If I wasn't already thoroughly dead, I would have thought I was coming down with a cold.  I really sounded terrible.  "Where're the others?"

            "Out in the living room," she answered.  "They're watching the Weather Channel."

            "I assume it's not just for Mish Michaels' smile," I concluded.  Mish Michaels is probably the hottest woman on the Weather Channel, though sometimes her smile makes me think she has more teeth than most people.  Still, while she's not as cool as Jim Cantore, the super-weatherman, she's certainly more pleasant on the eyes.

            "There's a tornado warning tonight," Sara told me.  "Well, at least for another hour, that is.  That's why I haven't gone out yet."

            "Yeah, it's not entirely safe out there," Michelle said, walking into the room with Melissa closely in tow.

            "What, are you, like, scared of a tornado?" Mel asked sarcastically.  "You afraid some girl's gonna drop her house on you or something?"

            "Shut up, bitch," Michelle shot back.  At that moment, I had an epiphany – my subconscious had forced me to stay in bed so that I could avoid all this shit.  I swear, someday these girls are gonna cause me to pull a Tony Soprano.  There I'll be, grilling a cheeseburger, and then – WHAM! – I'll fall flat on my face, the victim of a panic attack.  Of course, there could be a bright side to being like Tony Soprano.  I might end up in therapy with an emotionally fragile psychotherapist, driving her to alcoholism.  That would be pretty cool.

            "Are you two ever gonna chill out?" I asked.  What else could I do, really?  I wasn't gonna stand there and listen to them antagonizing each other, but I felt some kind of responsibility to make sure neither of them killed the other.  Besides, let's face it, my mental health was at stake here.

            "She started it," Michelle said.

            "Oh, sure, run and tell the teacher," Mel jibed.  "Teacher's pet, teacher's pet."

            "Are they sure there'll be tornadoes?" I asked, suddenly wondering if I would stand a good chance of getting sucked up by one if I went outside.  It was beginning to look like an attractive option.

            "The warning's almost over," Sara reminded us all.  "We'll be able to go out in no time."

            "Still too long," I mumbled.

            "What was that?" Michelle asked.

            "Nothing," I lied. I knew her heightened sense of hearing probably caught what I said, but that doesn't mean I was gonna admit it in front of the other two.  Okay, so maybe you think I'm a coward, but I like to think of it as having a strategically realistic view of my situation.

            "So we have any plans for after the storm warnings?" Michelle asked.

            "I still don't know why we're not just going out there anyway," Mel put in.

            "We could go out safely enough," Michelle admitted, "but if there are tornadoes all over the place, then it's likely no one's gonna be out yet, anyway.  We might as well wait."

            "This is Spring Break, Michelle," Mel retorted.  "There'll be people out even if you could guarantee that Spinnaker's would get hit by one of the tornadoes.  It would probably just make everything more fun for the drunken kids."

            "She's probably right," I admitted.  Of course, Mel could have said anything at that point, and as long as it justified, in any way, shape, or form, my leaving the house, then I would have agreed.  I just needed to get the hell out of there.  Spending the night at the dog track sounded fun.  I knew there was still a job to do and all, but that didn't stop me from wanting to have at least a little fun.  This was supposed to be a vacation, after all.        

            "So then let's go out," Michelle offered.  "There can't be many of these Sabbat guys left, could there be?"

            "Reports are a little mixed on that," I said.  "According to one view, we might already be done.  Under the other, though, there's still one out there.  We're gonna have to keep looking, just to make sure."

            "So if you were a vampire, where would you go?" Michelle asked.

            "That's not the real question," Melissa replied, a wicked grin spreading across her lips.  "What we really should be wondering is where a vampire would go when he's planning on making ghouls out of college students."

            "Right," I agreed.  "So given the fact that Spring Break is starting to wind down, where should we look?"

            "There's not any one place," Sara said.  "You guys have only been successful so far because of information from the natives, and also through sheer luck at finding a guy at the wet t-shirt contest.  You can't possibly expect to strike gold like that again."

            "True," I agreed.  The wheels in my head were spinning like mad, but I didn't even know the area well enough to make an educated guess as to where to look, even if we wanted to simply try dumb luck.

            "Fuck!" I heard Uiko curse from the living room.  "They just extended the damn tornado warning.  Apparently a few storms have re-energized themselves right off the coast.  There's some kind of super cell or something that they say has already produced two confirmed tornadoes."

            "Great," I muttered.  My mind raced along, wondering if there was a trailer park nearby.  It always seemed that tornadoes in the south hit any trailer park in the area.  That would give me a one-way ticket to a vacation in Oz... or at least a great excuse for not having to deal with my childer for a little while.

            "So am I to take it that we aren't going out tonight?" Mel asked.  A loud clap of thunder shook the building in response.  It was sorta like something out of a movie, and pretty damn cool.  I almost expected a disembodied voice to start calling out, 'Let my people go,' even though it would have made absolutely no sense under the circumstances.  Then again, the circumstances themselves made absolutely no sense, either.

            "Oh, we're goin' out," I announced, having come to a decision about what to do.  Sara was right, we couldn't just hope to run into the bad guys.  If the locals wanted us to kill the Sabbat interlopers, that was fine with me.  It was only fair to make them do all the legwork to actually find our targets, though, wasn't it?  Say 'yes,' it makes me happy.

            "So where are we going?" Sara asked.

            "You're not going anywhere," I told my obviously disappointed ghoul.  "You're not ready for this.  I think I'm goin' to the bank."

            "The banks all closed hours ago," Mel pointed out.

            "Well of course they did," I answered.  "It would be a little dangerous to break in during the day, what with the fact that I would disintegrate as soon as I ran away into the sunlight.  Breaking in at night allows me to be alone with the vault.  It's so much more rewarding."

            "Excellent," Michelle said.  I swear, I could absolutely see her eyes starting to glow.  It was incredible... and arousing.  I wanted to tear into her throat right there.  Wait, I'm sure that sounded a little weird...  Well, just imagine that you're a vampire, and having a fellow vampire rip into your throat (in a passionate, friendly way, not a 'I'm tearing into your throat because it's Step 1 in ripping off your head' sort of way) is a good thing.  Seriously, just trust me on this.  Michelle would have liked it.

            So anyway, Michelle ran into our bedroom to gather up some of our gear while the rest of us decided who would stay and who would go.  Long story short – Mason would stay and hold down the fort, Uiko and Mel would come along with me and Michelle, and Erica and Sara decided to go into town together.  I wasn't completely sure that allowing Erica and Sara to go out partying together was such a good idea, but I finally decided that if Erica caused too much trouble, I could always tell her that she should get K.T. to bail her out... again.  So since it really wouldn't be my problem, I decided not to worry about it.

            Anyway, after Michelle got our stuff together, the four of us drove out to The First Bank of Florida.  Now, I know what you're thinking – but Johnny, isn't it likely that a local bank would be controlled by the local Ventrue, and by robbing it wouldn't you be risking getting into a lot of trouble?  Well, duh.  Of course I was risking lots (and lots... and lots) of trouble, but as Michelle often says, if it's not worth risking getting your ass in major trouble, then it's probably not gonna be fun enough to do in the first place.  She's such a wonderful girl, and wise beyond her years.

            So we get out there and look the place over.  To be quite honest, I was far from impressed.  The security system hadn't been upgraded for at least two years, and there was no guard readily visible anywhere.  Seriously, it makes me wonder how banks avoid getting robbed on a nightly basis.  I'll bet with under a year's worth of training, I could teach just about anyone how to get into this place.  Then that lucky individual would be able to do some very profitable 24-hour banking without the hassle of using the cash machine.  Cash machines really piss me off.  I figure, why deal with an automated middleman when you can just go right to the vault?

            To make a long story short, Michelle and I got the security system disabled and the four of us went in.  I hope the short version doesn't piss you off too much.  I figure two things, though.  First, most of you would simply be bored by seeing the details of how to disconnect the alarm, and the motion sensors, and the cameras, and blah, blah, blah.  If you wouldn't be interested, then you shouldn't be subjected to it.  On the other hand, the rest of the readers would probably take far too much of an interest in it, and they'd start taking notes.  Then I'd have a bunch of new competitors (and that's bad for job security).  Or maybe I'd get in trouble with someone for posting such details online as a fairly irrelevant part of a story about my vacation.  That would cause all kinds of unwanted hassles with the FBI, so, like I said, I'll just refrain from posting that info.

            Now, once you're inside a bank at night, it's kinda like being a kid on Christmas Eve.  You know you're about to get all kinds of goodies (for free), but you still have to wait that little bit more.  The little bit more in the bank was breaking into the vault.  So we go into the back (once again, I won't bore you with how we avoided internal security systems and got past the steel gate that led to the vault door).  While the rest of the bank was rather easy to get into and move through, the vault promised to be a real pain in the ass.  The damned thing had a magnetic time lock.  If that could be bypassed (and believe me, it could), I still had to deal with two mechanical locks.  I went to work on the maglock and Michelle started looking over the mechanical locks, while Uiko and Mel, who seemed to come up short in experience robbing banks, entertained themselves by filling out deposit slips with phony names like 'Major Woody,' 'Private Parts,' and 'I.P. Freely.'  Made me feel like we might as well have brought Erica along.

            So, after about a half-hour of working, Michelle and I finally got the vault to open.  At that moment, I heard an unfamiliar male voice behind me.  "Very well done, Mr. Yashida," he said.  "Your reputation is quite well-earned."  In one motion I spun and leveled two .45's at... a Nosferatu.  Shoulda known I was being followed, what with being the new guy in town and all.

            "Oh, hi," I said nonchalantly, wondering whether or not I should shoot the sewer rat before he tore into Michelle, or even worse – me.

            "I simply wanted to inform you that my clanmates have located and liquidated the last of the Sabbat interlopers," he said evenly.

            "Oh, really?" I asked, not letting my guard down at all.

            "Yes," he replied.  "I would have called to tell you, but I assumed that since you were robbing a bank you would likely have turned off the ringer on your cell phone."

            "Ah, yeah," I muttered.  "Seemed like a good idea and all... didn't want anything to surprise me in here."

            "I suppose not," he answered.  "I will take my leave of you, then.  If you don't mind sharing a bit of the take, I'd be happy to watch outside to make sure no one else sneaks up and surprises you."

            "That's very generous," I commented, deciding that his help could be valuable.  It was quite obvious that Uiko or Mel were doing piss-poor job making sure no one sneaked up on me.  "Ten thousand alright?"

            "Fifteen, and I won't ever tell any of the Ventrue what you did at their bank," he bargained.

            "It's all insured, anyway," I pointed out.  "It's not like they're really gonna lose anything."  More than anything else, I was doing the job just to piss off the Ventrue and get some kind of compensation for doing their dirty work when I should have been on vacation.

            "They'll see your job as an insult," the Nosferatu replied.  "Ventrue seem to take it personally when people steal from them.  They're funny that way."

            "Tell me about it," I responded, finally allowing myself a thin smile.  You know, very often the Nosferatu are a lot cooler than their reputation would make one think.  Sure, he smelled like a sewer, but he was sorta cool.  "Well, fifteen it is," I said.  The Nosferatu followed Michelle and me into the vault, and within moments Mel and Uiko had joined the three of us (funny how they got more serious once there was an opportunity to steal something).  After another fifteen-minute's work, my little cadre was $123,420 richer.  Certainly not bad for a night's work.  And of course, the best thing was that since the business in Panama City was done, we could spend the rest of our vacation blowing the whole wad getting knee-deep in hookers and gin.

_To be concluded............................._


	8. Happy Trails

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

VII – Happy Trails 

            So the thing with Panama City is that it's completely built around the goal of pleasing thousands of drunken, horny college students.  Have I mentioned that before?  Anyway, I know I've touched on the issue a slight bit, but being in Panama City allowed me to figure out something rather surprising.

            See, maybe you've heard about vampires drinking the blood of drunken or stoned humans.  The result is that the vampire feels the effects of whatever chemical enhancements his meal had previously enjoyed.  Well, human hormones are, essentially, chemicals.  So drinking from drunken, horny college students produces drunken, horny kindred.  Sorta does a lot to explain Uiko's ice cube show during Truth or Dare, and the absolute rush of the girls to partake in a wet t-shirt contest.  I guess it also explains me banging away on a bunch of college girls right before I fed on them.  So maybe the anarchs aren't really as dim as I generally figure they are.

            Whether they are or not, though, I'm certainly gonna be putting Spring Break on my 'to do' list for the next hundred years or so.  It's amazing to actually feel alive again after so long.  It's kind of like… I don't know.  See, it's not like being kindred is analogous to being dead or anything.  I have a grand old time (when I'm not working, of course).  I have lots of friends, and I have a kick-ass job that allows me to travel.  I have a sense of purpose that I never had as a mortal, and I get to share a blood-bond, which is far more intimate than anything a mortal can experience.  But at the same time, though, there's just something missing.

            Maybe it's as simple as being out of sunlight for all eternity.  Humans are pretty much diurnal animals, and suddenly being forced to become nocturnal certainly takes something away from one's existence.  I think the real thing, though, is that humans just don't function quite the same without all of the chemicals we're used to having flowing through our brains.  As I've said countless times, we don't feel passion anymore, at least not like mortals do.  We don't feel intense, physical desire.  I no longer go to a wet t-shirt contest and get that aching, burning feeling in my gut that I had when I was still alive.  It's that primal instinct for procreation, I guess.  Kindred can't mate, so our brains no longer produce the chemicals that once fueled our mortal libidos.  So now, while we're certainly still alive and in many ways better than we once were, we also lack one of the most basic aspects of what we used to be.  It's that inner drive that I felt come back to me in Panama City.  It made me feel so _alive_.  That's why I'll keep coming back.

            Anyway, I walked out of my bedroom the night after the robbery and saw Sara doing her aerobics in the living room.  The first thing I noticed was that she's got a great ass.  The second thing I noticed was that I must have still had lots of hormones floating around in my bloodstream, left over from the bars we hit the night before.  I don't know if I can say enough times that it felt wonderful.  I continued through the living room and headed straight for the rec room, planning on shooting a few games of pool against myself before I had to do anything serious.

            When I reached the rec room I saw Michelle and Melissa shooting a game of 9-ball.  Not surprising, since Michelle loves the game.  It seemed that Mel was winning, though, and that did startle me a bit.  Seemed I actually had the good luck to adopt a child that must have grown up in a pool hall.

            "What's the plan for tonight?" Mel asked as I walked in.  She was looking at me the way I figured I must have looked at Sara.  Can't say that won't be something I'll look forward to next year.

            "We're packing our bags," I announced.  "Sorry to say that new orders just came in.  Shore leave's been canceled."

            "You're kidding," Michelle grumbled.  "We only just got the prince's little chore done, and now we have to ship out again?  What the shit is that?"

            "I didn't exactly tell Siras about the favor we did for the prince," I answered.  "He's under the impression that we've been down here screwing around for the past week."

            "Well, it's not like we were all about the work," Uiko commented as she joined us.  "We unwound a little."

            "A little," Mel complained.  She's probably the one I felt worst for.  She actually didn't have much fun at all, especially not after that little battle royal we forced her into.  That probably was a little less than cool, especially from her point of view.

            "Like it or not, we have a job to do," I said sternly.  It seemed I was gonna have to lay down the law; I hated to do, but it had to be done.  So I abandoned the personality of 'Johnny Yashida, Party Guy,' and switched into 'Drill Sergeant' mode.  "You're a soldier now, Mel.  Don't forget it.  And Michelle, you're welcome to stay behind if you want; I have no authority over you.  But if you decide to join us, I expect you to keep your comments under wraps."

            "Of course," she said quickly, apologetically.  The look on her face made me sorry for having spoken to her that way.  She looked… petulant.  Yeah, that's the word.  And there's nothing like a petulant, nubile cutey.

            "So, uhh… how about this," I offered.  "Why don't you all go on and enjoy one last night?"  I took a wad of cash out of my pocket and tossed it over onto the pool table."

            "Really?" Mel asked.  I nodded.  "Cool!"            

            "So where are we going?" Michelle asked me as Mel and Uiko left to tell everyone the good news.

            "Nowhere," I said with a sly grin.

            "But I thought you said…"  Her voice trailed off as she caught my meaning.  Yup, I'm a clever one.  Give the kiddies some money to go out and play while Michelle and I enjoy a night alone.  God, I _so_ love having raging hormones again!

Epilogue 

            "So this is it, huh?"  The look on Erica's face was almost pitiable as she spoke.  I knew she didn't want to go off on her own yet, and truth be told, I almost offered her the chance to hang with us a bit longer.  In New Orleans I discovered what I'd suspected for awhile – that K.T. was, in fact, the closest thing to a friend I'm likely to get outside my clan.  But also in New Orleans I saw what's making Erica hesitant to go back to him.  It's that dark side that all the Gangrel seem to have.  Michelle's got it goin' on, too, whenever she gets all pissy about something I do.  They're really not like the rest of us – they're close to the beast inside, and I think that scares Erica.

            K.T. was taking it to extremes, though.  He was a few steps beyond the edge back in the Big Easy, and it doesn't take a genius realize that Erica got majorly freaked out.  And so yes, I almost offered her an open-ended invitation into the life of my crew.  But then I remembered all the times she'd made me squirm in the past few days, and I thankfully resisted the temptation to make a stupid decision.  Besides, she'll never work things out with K.T. if she doesn't go back to him.  I'm not a security blanket, and neither are any of my childer.  Maybe we'll invite her next year for Spring Break, though.  Well, as long as she promises to bring K.T. along, that is.  I think that could be a really fun time.  After all, what's the worst that could possibly happen?

Fin


End file.
